


Confluence or Just Serendipity?

by throwmeaway



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:49:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwmeaway/pseuds/throwmeaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long awaited meeting strays slightly from its initial intent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had really enjoyed the interactions of these two in season one, and still find myself hoping that they will have the opportunity to meet again under different circumstances. Season 4 isn't over yet, so who knows!

“You know what really killed me? It wasn't that you left. Everyone leaves – Da' had left. No, what killed me is that _I_ thought you somehow wouldn't. As if you didn't have your own motivations for anything you did.” She said these words without a hint of anger. This was something that had simply _happened_. What could be done about it now?  
  
When the woman seated across from her didn't respond, she continued, a smile lingering at the corner of her lips. “Though to be able to say it without screaming means I've come a long way, yeah?” She was goading for a response. Anything.  
  
“You have.”  
  
“Is that all you have to say? Really?” She raised her eyebrows, taking a lengthy sip of coffee for comedic effect.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Was that a hint of irritation coming from the woman across the table? Her blue eyes flashed. “I didn't leave _you._ I left the prison, you should know that. I was forced to resign.” A pause. “An inmate was murdered under my care. You were all under my care, not just you.” The woman broke eye contact briefly to look around the small café. Perhaps this wasn't the place to truly have this conversation.  
  
“That doesn't sound like the Miss Davidson I knew. Conceding so easily.” She chose to ignore the hitch in the woman's voice when she said _not just you._

Just like she would have had _before,_ she willingly took the bait without hesitation. “I didn't concede. There were two choices. I could've been fired, which would have looked worse than a resignation. Franky, I was barely thirty. I needed to make sure my career could stay intact.” Her hands tightened around the mug. _Relax._ She let out a small sigh. “I didn't want to leave. My resignation was a bit more of a clandestine operation.”  
  
“Clearly.” Franky looked at Erica Davidson in earnest. She leant across the table conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “And that day in your office? That had nothing to do with it?” She grinned, “ 'cause I reckon it might have at least made it a bit easier for you to go. Or harder, depending on how you looked at it. I'm sure the tongue that went down my throat would see it that way.”  
  
Of course the “altercation” in the governor's office had made her departure both of those things. Franky could always see right through Erica; even now it simultaneously excited and frustrated her. Erica was still barely able to admit to herself, even these few years later, that it was she herself who had really closed the distance between them that afternoon (or rather, “stuck her tongue down her throat”, as Franky crudely just put it). The eventual day that she had been called into a meeting with Channing, she was ready to defend herself and deny the events in her office had even occurred -- despite feeling like it was written all over her face. Much to her surprise (and relief), that had not been the reason given for letting her go. In retrospect, Erica always wondered how much Channing really knew about her feelings regarding her _special_ ward. He had seemed more than eager to suggest she find a _distraction_ equally as willing to “not get caught”. Maybe he hadn't actually been suggesting himself.  
  
Erica looked at Franky incredulously, throwing her hand in the air. A gesture to signify the other people around them. “Do you really think this is the place to be having this conversation? Christ Franky,” she hissed. She remained hunched towards Franky over the small table, glaring.

Franky smiled and sat back, putting the distance between them that Erica had not (though she probably _should have_ ). “Where else are we going to have it then?”  
  
Erica rolled her eyes, and realized that she finally had the opportunity to redirect discussion. “I was under the impression that we agreed to meet here to discuss the terms of your internship with the OPP. Unless you've decided to intern elsewhere?” Her voice oozed smugness.  
  
Franky had to laugh. She had almost forgotten how much she missed their back and forth banter. “I haven't signed anything yet.” As she said it, Erica smirked and pulled the appropriate paperwork from her briefcase. “But, really,” she said seriously, running her finger across the edge of the papers now placed in front of her. “I do want this internship. You happening to be there has nothing to do with it.”  
  
It was Erica's turn to let out a chuckle, albeit a stifled one. “It's just an added bonus, then?”

Franky smiled in agreement. “Yeah. Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the text definitely leaves room for further exploration, it does end in a bit of nice spot. Maybe there'll be more, maybe not - especially now that I've got writing this out of my system.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky and Erica continue their meeting. We learn more about how it came to be.

“So the days you'll be expected to complete your hours are Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” Erica watched as Franky scrawled notes and doodles into the margins of the paperwork. “As for what those hours actually are, your supervisor will be in contact within the next few days.”  
  
Franky looked up. “It's not going to be you?”  
  
“Why would I be?”

“Well, you were at my interview. And you're the one here now givin' me the down low.” Franky shrugged, snorting at her innuendo as Erica rolled her eyes. “Aren't those supervisory duties? Or did you miss me that much?”  
  
“No.” Erica smiled, not quite answering either question. “However, as you used me as a reference, I have a certain interest in making sure that you have the 'down low'.” She used air quotes. “As well as making sure you stay on your best behavior...”  
  
“If I knew you were at the OPP when I first submitted my application, I would've picked a different reference,” Franky chided.  
  
“And here I was thinking that you google'd me every chance you had.” Though, Erica did find herself wondering how often, if at all, the former prisoner had looked her up. Of course she had, just not immediately.  
  
When it had come time in the semester to start applying for internships, Franky had every intention of putting her course advisor as one reference and Bridget as another. Bridget had quickly dismissed herself as a choice because their relationship had evolved much more beyond that of counselor and client and it would thus, “be unwise to offer a recommendation”. Franky hadn't quite understood why the nature of their relationship would dictate whether or not Bridget would be a fine reference; the psychologist had clearly cut corners on what was or was not appropriate with her former patient before.

 

“ _C'mon Gidge.” Franky sighed. “You know all about me, you're the perfect character reference.”_  
  
_Bridget shook her head. “You'd be better off getting your parole officer or another one of your professors.” She was seated comfortably beside Franky on the couch with a glass of wine. “It would be unwise for me to offer a recommendation.”_  
  
_“But you'll only have nice things to say about me.” Franky leaned in close to Bridget, playfully biting her ear._  
  
_Bridget closed her eyes. “Exactly. You need someone who can be a bit more objective.”_

 

And so, Franky wound up using the former governor Erica Davidson. At first, she had listed her as a place holder, a joke even, never expecting to actually submit anything with Erica's name on it. However, she quickly realized that despite what had happened between her and Erica, the ex-governor certainly would not be able to deny Franky's academic performance and quick wit. Plus, Erica was likely now some kind of higher-up in law land. She only hoped that if the powers that be decided to contact her references, Erica wouldn't break her career before she even had the opportunity to make it.  
  
\- - -

“ _Oi, Erica, do you have a second?” Erica Davidson looked up from up from her monitor to see Virginia Beech, a junior HR manager peaking through the door to her office._

 _She tried to conceal her irritation and feigned a smile. Don't people knock anymore? “I suppose I do now.”_  
  
_Virginia shuffled into the office, her feet audibly dragging on the floor. “We've been going through the prospective interns and I thought that this one would be relevant to your interests.” She tentatively approached Erica's desk, ready to hand her the file she was holding onto._  
  
_“I'm not involved in interning or the process.” Erica nodded towards the door, hoping to dismiss the manager so she could get back to her own work. “Perhaps you'd like to alert one of the Directorate Managers.”_  
  
_“Well, this one used you as a reference, so we'd like to consult you directly.” Virginia placed the file awkwardly on Erica's desk, patting it for good measure. She continued to stand stiffly as Erica glanced over the file._  
  
_“Me as a reference?” Erica looked at Virginia skeptically. She was trying to rack her brain as to who she would have offered to advocate for recently. One of the legal trainees or junior solicitors? But they wouldn't be applying for an internship, certainly not where they already worked. She opened the file, almost laughing out loud when she saw the name of the applicant: Francesca Doyle._  
  
_“Despite her background, she seemed interesting enough to at least call in for an interview. She's in 2L. Do you mind attending? We've asked the Director and Jim to be there too.”_  
  
_Erica placed her hand at the side of her neck, shaking her head. “I..well...do I have a choice?” Franky Doyle, nearly three years later, coming back in to her life. She should have known._

“ _No,” Virginia offered a tight lipped smile. “Seeing as you're a senior solicitor here and she used you as a reference...” She paused and gave Erica an alarmed expression. “You did realize she would use you as a reference for this position, didn't you?”  
  
Erica laughed a bit nervously. “Of course I did.” _ This was inevitable. _She was looking through Franky's file. She had completed her Bachelor's and somehow managed to skip 1L straight into 2L in less than two and a half years. If nothing else, it would be_ interesting _to see how life was treating her troublesome former-charge. Nothing else. “Will that be all?”_  
  
_Virginia nodded, seeing herself out. “The interview will be next Monday.”_  
  
\- - -  
  
“Actually, I didn't think to look you up until after the interview.” Franky laughed. “I would've thought you'd be at VLA advocating for the helpless, or something.”  
  
Erica shook her head, again trying to conceal a smile. “I consult there occasionally. I imagine you didn't apply there then?”  
  
“No, I did,” Franky corrected. “Really only to see if you were there.” She eyed Erica carefully, quite pleased with herself that she was able to get the senior solicitor to crack a genuine smile.  
  
“You'd probably do quite well at Legal Aid.” Erica mused. If anyone had a good idea of what the system was like and how to stay out of it, it would probably be Franky Doyle.  
  
“I already deal with that shit for Wentworth,” Franky scoffed, averting her eyes away from the contract she had been given and back to Erica. “I wanted to try something different. Wouldn't you?”  
  
Erica shook her head. She was trying evade eye contact. “Franky...”  
  
“Erica...” She truly hadn't meant anything other than how it had sounded, but was intrigued that Erica seemed to have considered otherwise.

“Let's try and stay professional while we're here, yeah?” Erica sighed.

“Fine.” Franky crossed her arms, exaggerating a frown. “But only while we're in here.” She winked at Erica, who rewarded her with a chuckle and yet another eye roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to do some research on the Victorian OPP, but if you all have any corrections or information it would be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of their meeting could be described only as comfortable. Despite the years of buried tension and subtext that had yet to be resolved – this was to be a different conversation for a different day – Franky listened as Erica explained the banalities she should come to expect upon interning at the Office of Public Prosecutions.  
  
“I don’t imagine they’ll have you doing much the first week or so,” Erica said. “I honestly don’t really know about the interning process. If it’s anything like what they do with trainees, you’ll shadow a solicitor; a crown if you're lucky.”  
  
“How many interns are there?” Franky asked.  
  
Erica shrugged, looking at her watch: 9:40 AM. She had to leave in the next few minutes if she had any hope of getting to court on time. “I couldn’t tell you. Maybe another one or two.” She stood up rather suddenly, her briefcase slung over one shoulder and the empty cup and saucer in her free hand. “Sorry. I have a hearing in less than an hour.”  
  
Franky nodded, but remained seated. It was funny, she thought, Erica was still able to move through her life and dictate when appearances suited her. Franky realized, of course, that it was a Wednesday morning and it was very reasonable for Erica to have to leave at any time for work. She was, however, frustrated that she still found herself curious about Erica Davidson beyond her position as senior solicitor. What that curiosity amounted to, she wasn’t quite sure but, it made her uneasy. She had thought of her life as rather content and simple post-Wentworth. She was not anticipating Erica Davidson to become a complication.  
  
“Are you going to stay here?” Erica’s voice shook her from her thoughts.  
  
“Yeah, I’ve got some things on,” Franky said absently. She reached into her backpack, pulling out a small laptop. “Paper to finish.”  
  
Erica smiled, tentatively placing a hand on Franky’s shoulder. It was meant to be an affable gesture, she told herself. “You’ll do fine. I might even see you next week in the office.”  
  
Franky’s eyes lingered on Erica’s hand, which was promptly pulled away. She chuckled slightly at the reaction. “I’ll hold you to it. Have fun at court.” She offered a cheeky smile. It seemed to be her best and only defense at the moment. She had come into this meeting feeling collected and in control. Erica leaving, even now to a known location, had her feeling more disconcerted than she had expected.  
  
Erica sensed a change in Franky’s demeanor, but had no time to dwell on it. The Office of Public Prosecution’s newest intern had always been moody, after all, she recalled. She nodded and held on tighter to the strap of her briefcase, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’ll see you, Franky.”  
  
Franky watched as Erica left the café, her likely expensive heels clicking on the wood floor. With her tailored pencil skirts and suit jackets, Franky wondered what Erica was like in court. Was she ever flustered and vying for self-control or was that only when they were around each other?  
  
She turned on her laptop and drummed her fingers on the track pad. That paper had been finished days ago. Hopefully this feeling of agitation wouldn’t linger through to the evening. She hadn’t felt like this after the first interview. Although, she remembered, she was the one who was able to leave first that day, thus seemingly dictating their terms of engagement.

\---  
  
  
_“_ _I’m_ _so_ _sorry I’m late, she was very on-time, don’t blame her.” Franky followed a frazzled Virginia Beech into_ _a_ _conference room. She laughed quietly as she heard the junior HR manager continue to explain their,_ _mainly her,_ _tardiness. “I should have told her not to wait by my office and come straight here instead.” Virginia huffed, tossing files on the large table.  
  
Jim McCraig, later introduced as __Chief Crown Prosecutor, offered a polite chuckle. “It’s fine, but you’re lucky John couldn’t be here. Our dear director is more of a stickler for time than me.” He turned his attention to the young woman standing by the doorway. “You must be Ms. Doyle. Take a seat and get comfortable, I’ll grab the other two.” He smiled warmly at Franky,_ _though not_ _before taking another jibe at Virginia.  
  
__Franky smirked as she watched Jim whisper something into her still_ _ruffled_ _recruiter’s ear as_ _t_ _he_ _y both_ _left the room. She tried to relax, the chairs at the conference table were comfortable enough, but interviews (especially those regarding credentials or lack there of) were bound to leave her_ _feeling_ _a little antsy. At least, despite her unintended tardiness,_ _her day_ _was off to a better start than a certain Mrs. Beech._ _She even had a nice view of the skyline from where she was seated._ _  
  
“_ _Nice to see you again Franky.” She_ _craned her neck_ _back_ _to_ _wards_ _the door upon hearing her name. Franky’s jaw must have dropped to the floor when she saw former-governor Erica Davidson, looking professional as ever, enter the room on the tails of CCP McCraig and_ _two other colleagues.  
  
Franky quickly tried to stifle her disbelief, __hoping_ _not to laugh as she spoke. “Miss Davidson...long time no see.”  
  
Erica, much unlike Franky, had time to mentally prepare herself for this meeting. She offered a curt smile and nod in return, proceeding to take a seat across the table. She was only at this meeting at the request of HR and was intending on speaking and engaging as little as possible.  
  
“_ _Good thing_ _one of your references is our top senior solicitor,” Jim laughed, taking a seat opposite Franky. “She said that you were generally very prompt and up-front.”  
  
Franky grinned, watching Erica __from across the table._ _“Did she?”  
  
“Jim, please.” Erica’_ _s_ _expression remained unreadable as she turned her attention to Franky. “We’ve decided not to blame you for having to push this meeting thirty minutes late.”_ _She_ _had not been pleased to reschedule her entire morning,_ _not once but twice,_ _around this interview._ _Seeing_ _Franky was its own can of worms – and she prepped herself accordingly. At least_ _their meeting_ _after all this time, in this setting, would act as a safety net for them both._ _She was rather more annoyed that_ _the propriety of her day had been interrupted.  
__  
“_ _You’re never going to live this_ _one_ _down Virginia,” a younger man,_ _perhaps in his late twenties,_ _said as he sat himself on the side of Jim and Erica. He reached out to shake Franky’s hand. “I’m_ _Simon Brunner, one of the solicitors who works with the internship program. Let’s get started then, shall we?”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continued recollection of Franky's interview at the Office of Public Prosecutions and first meeting with Erica upon departing from Wentworth.

“ _I think you would make an interesting addition to the office, however the decision ultimately isn't up to me. Simon and his team, along with HR, get to pick the intern pool.” Jim McCraig observed Franky from across the table, gesturing slightly to the man at his right. “I only reserve the right to veto their choices.” He chuckled gently. For a man who was perhaps the most powerful prosecutor in the state, he seemed to like to make himself laugh as much as possible. Maybe it was the only way he could get through his daily advisories of what to do with the latest murderer or abduction._  
  
_Simon interjected, “We still have a few more candidates to go through but, you will receive a phone call from Virginia or myself of our decision within the week.” He smiled reassuringly. “What do you think Erica?”_

 _The senior solicitor had been conspicuously silent through the interview, not fielding any questions and responding very minimally. Her role at this interview was solely as Franky's advocate, but she really had nothing to advocate for. Franky Doyle had cleaned up quite well for today. She spoke professionally and tried to keep the jokes at a minimum. Only CCP McCraig seemed to appreciate them, anyway. Erica had an excellent pokerface, but Franky liked to think that she may have gotten the senior solicitor to crack a smile._  
  
_Erica looked up from her legal pad. She had been trying to pretend to take notes. About what? What did she care if Franky was going to intern here? In the office where she worked. After spending years of distancing herself. She shook her head. She had hated seeing a therapist._  
  
_“I think Franky should have the opportunity to exercise what she's learned either here or elsewhere in a private practice.” She looked at Franky without smiling and continued, “She could do well anywhere if she puts her mind to it.”_  
  
_Franky smiled meekly and shifted in her chair. “I do appreciate having you take the extra time to see me today.” She reached out to shake Simon's hand from across the table, as Jim and Virginia excused themselves, sending their good-byes and well wishes._  
  
_Erica collected her things. She knew she couldn't, rather_ shouldn't _, make an Irish good-bye in front of Franky again this time. She waited until Simon was shuffling out (assuring him that she would lock up) to approach Franky as she, in turn, packed up._  
  
_“Glad to see that you're doing well.”_  
  
_Franky considered Erica as she rose from the chair. She found that she had to slightly chortle as she asked her question. “Why are you here?” It was in a rather similar manner that they had begun their last and effectively final conversation. "I mean, obviously I know why, but I don't understand.”_  
  
_“You used me as a reference.” Erica hesitated, “Didn't you think that I'd be somewhere you applied at? The world of law isn't that big. Public law is even smaller.”_  
  
_“I needed one more person who knew my academic background.” Franky leered. She and Erica were now standing across from each other near the door. “I would've asked, but you never called. How would I have known?” She was able to keep it together during the interview, it hadn't been about what had happened between her and Erica. However, she knew she was still angry; it had just been seething below the surface. She found that it was much easier to be snide now that they were the only ones in the room._  
  
_“Franky...”_  
  
_“Nah. You don't get to do that.” Franky dismissed her immediately. “I have to get to class. You want to finally talk, fine, but you're going to have to wait for_ me _.” She opened the door to exit. “Thanks for putting in a good word, but really, fuck you.”_  
  
_Erica cringed as the door slammed shut in front of her. She was alone, once again, with her back to a corner. Who could she really blame but herself?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this long thought out plan of where I would like this to go, but I'm not much of a narrative writer! I wanted to establish a back story as to how they wound up meeting in the café and the eventual "real" story to come, but the whole thing will probably be slow goings if it goes at all.
> 
> Also, know that this story is really a hair away from being a Crownies crossover (it won't be, promise).
> 
> All the same, thanks for checking it out!


	5. Chapter 5

Compared to the grandiose neoclassical architecture of the Supreme Court of Victoria further down the street, the Melbourne Magistrates’ Court was modest in appearance both inside and out. Though perhaps less sleek and modern looking than the County Court just across the road, the Magistrates’ Court remained a stalwart beacon on the corner of William and Lonsdale Streets. It was at this court that Erica Davidson was rushing through, hoping to have at least a few minutes to gather her thoughts before the contest mention for a case that, in her opinion, was a complete waste of time.  
  
Why was a senior solicitor dealing with a case in the lowest state court? Certainly there was something more worthy of her talents; a trial in the supreme court with a senior crown prosecutor and a great deal of media attention, maybe? While there was generally at least always one or two of those on her agenda, Erica often found herself taking cases that could easily have been distributed to junior solicitors and advocates in her department. She took them instead, not because she felt that her coworkers were incapable (though they sometimes were), but rather because she liked to stay busy and in control of as many matters within her jurisdiction as possible. It was something of a hangup of hers to keep so much on her plate, as she truly had discovered during her tenure at Wentworth. No one could ever accuse Erica Davidson of not working hard enough – except maybe a certain former inmate who was stewing away at a coffee shop the last metro stop over.

By taking as many of these small cases as she could, it kept her away from home and her attention focused away from her struggling relationship with her perpetual fiancé but, never husband. She would, however, _never_ admit that to herself. Instead, she reasoned that she enjoyed her work and the quicker these smaller, easier matters for the court were taken care of, the more time she and the Office of Public Prosecutions would have for what actually mattered. In her defense, it wasn’t completely untrue. Erica reveled in her half truths and practicing law was full of them. It had made her quite the adapt lawyer, but not always the most honest person with herself and consequently, others.  
  
  
Franky, meanwhile, was on espresso number three. She raced eagerly through an assignment that was to be due in two weeks. It had been to her surprise that she loved learning so much, especially since she had originally played dumb and not read the material for Erica’s tutoring sessions all that time ago. That method had, though, gotten her much more “focused attention” from what was her favorite prisoner advocate and she had soon found that she enjoyed studying anything she could get her hands on.  
  
Erica had never fallen for Franky’s act of not understanding, though she had certainly and purposely engaged in it. It had been something of a game for the both of them. Erica would coax out Franky’s cleverness and intellect simply through rephrasing a question in a way that she knew her student wouldn’t be able to resist answering. Incidentally, Franky would do the same thing right back, but with difficult questions of a different nature for Erica.  
  
She frowned as her concentration was broken due to a beep from her phone. She looked down to see a text message from Bridget: _How’d it go?_

It was such a loaded question that she had no intention of answering via text. She didn’t want to lie and text the short answer. So she proceeded to call instead – yet, still to give the short answer. “It went. Are you on break?”  
  
“Not really.” Bridget held her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she was typing. “I have someone coming in in a few minutes but, I wanted to see how you were doing.”  
  
Franky smiled. It was small acts of kindness that always hit her the hardest. “Nothing to talk about but...” She paused for a dramatic effect. “I am now an intern.”  
  
“That’s excellent Franky! We’ll celebrate tonight.” Bridget congratulated through the phone, sounding more like the proud parent that she often seemed to be. “Is this at Legal Aid or where?”  
  
“The OPP.” Franky said. While she had mentioned to Bridget that Erica Davidson had appeared at her initial interview, she neglected to say that it was Erica who she had been intending to meet today. Bridget had been concerned at Erica’s rather sudden reappearance in Franky’s life, not knowing that Franky had wound up using the less infamous former governor as a reference to begin with. Franky wasn’t going to analyze, at least right now, why she would only discuss Erica with Bridget when it was convenient and certain not to lead to _another_ conversation.  
  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright there? I know that after your interview...”  
  
“I probably won’t even see her,” She reassured. “It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.” The opportunity of working for the Office of Public Prosecutions or the opportunity to interact with Erica Davidson? Why not both? Franky liked her half truths too, it seemed.  
  
“Well, I’m excited for you all the same.” Bridget smiled, though a knock on her door caused her to cut the conversation short. “Gotta’ go – see you later.” The phone disconnected with a short beep.  
  
“See ya’ Gidge.” She said as the phone disconnected, getting back to perusing the lengthy .pdf on “A History of Modern Jurisprudence”. Even Franky had to admit that it was a bit of dry reading, considering its early 1900s publication date.

  
  
“If it pleases the court, I would like to suggest that this matter not proceed to trial.” Erica stood and addressed the judge. She turned her attention slightly to the defense team to her left.  
  
“And why is that, Solicitor?”  
  
“Mr. Nakamoto had already violated his parole by traveling outside the state,” Erica began. “There are two assaults on record, this one in particular was out of state. It would be a waste of time to put that to trial immediately given that the defense shouldn’t have left Victoria to begin with.”  
  
“Hey, I was defending myself!” Mister Nakamoto crowed. He was quickly silenced by his attorney and given a stern look from the judge.  
  
“And what does the defense think?” The judge said, trying to sound polite. He was thoroughly displeased with the small outburst from the accused.  
  
“I would be happy to adjourn and discuss an alternative to trial,” The defense attorney sighed. She hoped it wasn’t obvious that she too felt that her client was a complete doofus.  
  
Erica nodded her assent. “While I do believe Mr. Nakamoto should be entitled to discuss his alleged self-defense in a courtroom setting, the fact of the matter is that he shouldn’t have gone to New Castle to begin with and he will still have to deal with the consequences of violating his parole conditions.” She looked towards the defense attorney. “I propose settling the matter of parole violation and we can discuss how to further proceed with the out of state assault charge.”  
  
“Does the defense agree?” The judge said simply. He saw no more reason for this hearing to continue. The case would likely have become needlessly complex if it proceeded any further.  
  
The defense agreed immediately, while Mr. Nakamoto muttered quietly about the miscarriage of justice.  
  
Fortunately, he had no idea what really amounted to the miscarriage of justice, unlike the senior solicitor who had tried to put some of her past machinations and scheming behavior at Wentworth behind her. That being said, she would never call anything she had done as governor to get her way as a “miscarriage of justice”, save one particular incident of Franky Doyle landing in ad-seg for five weeks. She wondered what else of their past they would have to revisit in future conversations.

  
\- - -  
  
  
_Franky didn’t recognize the number flashing on her phone as it rang. As a general rule she tended to ignore numbers she didn’t recognize, but applying for internships meant that there were a handful of unfamiliar phone numbers that she would need to screen through. Her interview at the Office_ _of_ _Public Prosecutions was already a week in the past and she was expecting a call from them.  
  
“Franky?” The voice on the other end sounded familiar but, she couldn’t place it. Maybe it wasn’t the OPP; she had expected them to sound more formal.  
  
“Uh, yeah. Speaking?”  
  
“Franky, it’s Erica Davidson from the Office __of_ _Public Prosecutions.” Erica winced as she delivered the formal address of who she was. Of course Franky would know who she was without indicating her place of employment.  
  
Franky snorted into the phone. “Do you say that to everyone you call?” While she wanted to antagonize Erica, she was excited to hear back about her potential internship.  
  
“Often, yes.” She could hear the smile in Erica’s voice. “But, I suppose I should have made an exception for you?” Their last conversation had ended with Franky issuing a stern “fuck you”, and yet, here they were back to teasing. The senior solicitor hoped that Franky remained in a good enough mood.  
  
“As much as I would like to hang up,” Franky began. “I know you wouldn’t have given me such a formal introduction if you didn’t have something on your agenda.” She laughed gently, remembering Erica’s change of demeanor whenever she knew she was being watched by others.  
  
Erica frowned. How Franky could read her like a book, she never knew (or rather she didn’t want to acknowledge that they were really just two sides of the same coin). “This isn’t a social call, correct--”  
  
“I know, you never call,” Franky grinned, interrupting.  
  
__Erica ignored her. “I’m calling to inform you about a potential internship with the OPP. I’ve been instructed to speak to you about it and give you some paperwork if you’re interested.” Erica had actually taken it upon herself to make sure that she was the one to talk to Franky again, especially after their last conversation. Virginia had been hesitant to allow her into the domain of hiring interns, but made an exception due to Erica’s_ _senior position and_ _role as reference. Her smooth talking probably hadn’t hurt either._ _  
  
“_ _I can’t talk now.” Franky admitted, she was on her way to another class._  
  
_“This wouldn’t be something to discuss on the phone, anyway. Perhaps we can meet in the next few days?”_  
  
_“Sure, but not at your office,” Franky said._  
  
_Erica remained silent._  
  
_“I think we have a bit more to address other than interning, don’t you?”_  
  
_She could hear Erica audibly exhale over the other end of the line. There was a lengthy pause before Erica spoke again. “That is not the purpose of this meeting.”_  
  
_“Then I guess you’ll have to pencil in another one.”_  
  
_Erica silently grumbled as she opened her calendar. “What does your next Wednesday look like? We can discuss the terms of your internship then.”_  
  
_“Whatever you say, Erica.” chuckled Franky. She then asked for a text of the time and location of their tête-à-tête._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know a thing about lawyering and legalese. Cheers.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the work day was over, which was always much later than 5 or 6 PM for Erica even on court days, she retired home. Mark, her fiancé of nearly a decade, was out when she arrived. That had become more and more frequent, but she wasn’t one to complain and relished in having at least a few minutes for herself. He had left a sweet note in the kitchen that he was out with mates and had left dinner in the refrigerator, causing a small smile to appear on her lips.  
  
It was rare for either of them to text each other if they were going out when the other wasn’t home. This had lead to a series of sticky notes being pasted in various locations around their otherwise neat home. Erica had been the one to initially start leaving notes around the house back when her hours at Wentworth had become so erratic that she had often become too stressed to actually speak to Mark either way. She remembered telling herself that it might have resulted in giving him _too much_ information as to why she allowed her odd hours some measure of regularity. Mark, on the other hand, had found the notes a fun way to interact with his fiancée and had adopted them in turn. Though, Erica had to admit, he had been using them much more recently than she had been. Were they really even cohabiting at this point? They barely saw one another. It was the best she had felt about her relationship in years.  
  
As she sat down on the couch with a tumbler of scotch (neat, always), she thought about her meeting with Franky earlier in the day. What was it about the dark featured woman that kept her sucked in like a magnet, even after years without contact? Just as she was about to text Franky, perhaps an apology for having to head off to court so quickly, she heard the door unlock. She tossed her phone back on the coffee table and tried to look a little more enthusiastic about seeing her fiancé.  
  
\- - -  
  
“You should be celebrating, not still doing homework.” Bridget kissed Franky gently on top of the head, looking down to see the brunette highlighting and writing notes in the margin of a text book. “These assignments probably aren’t even due for another week, are they?”  
  
Franky looked up with a grin. “The faster I can get these assignments out of the way, the more time we’ll have to celebrate in the future.”  
  
“Always looking ahead.” Bridget smiled, moving back towards the kitchen. She was cooking tonight for a change. “But, we didn’t celebrate the night you got the internship, so hurry up.”  
  
“Let me just finish this, then I’m all yours.” She said with a laugh, though her eyes didn’t follow Bridget away. Truth be told, she thought that if she continued to focus on her future assignments (which she would be doing anyway), it would keep her mind off of Erica Davidson and the way that they _still_ danced around each other as if she hadn’t changed in all these years and Erica had never walked out of her life without a word.  
  
Yet here she was sitting in _Bridget’s_ home, still thinking about the way Erica had pulled her hand away from her shoulder the other morning and how she wished she had held it there instead.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
“The whole way this case was handled from the start has been a disaster,” Chief Crown Prosecutor Jim McCraig groaned as he scanned through one of the many files stacked on his desk. “Who the hell was her lawyer? How was she even released from protective custody?” He sounded increasingly alarmed as he looked across to Erica Davidson and senior crown prosecutor Theresa DeKoenig as if they could answer all manner of his inquiry. They were seated in the rather large mahogany furnished office belonging to the Director of Public Prosecutions.  
  
Theresa spoke first, “The fact that you and John hadn’t let the state give me this case to begin with is half your problem. The state’s star witness was found burned to a crisp the day of her trial, how is that not suspicious? And they just let her walk away?” She was an arrogant woman, but rightly so. She hadn’t been a Rhodes Scholar twice over and Jim McCraig’s likely successor at barely forty for nothing. “Why the state didn’t go for a direct indictment is beyond me. The evidence against her was and is staggering, despite her supposed ‘mental state’,” Barrister DeKoenig scoffed. She clearly pulled no punches.  
  
Jim huffed, ignoring his senior prosecutor’s statements. “Well you have it now. Aside from having to reevaluate the initial adjournment, we now additionally have to prosecute for these two attempted murders.” He sighed and turned his attention to the blonde senior solicitor, who had been quietly reviewing parts of the file on her lap. “Erica, I’d like you to work with Theresa on this. I should’ve appointed you initially but, I was worried...”  
  
“That my history at Wentworth would be a conflict of interest?” Erica completed his sentence as she looked up. “It still might be. Apparently, one of the women she tried to kill was under my care when I was governor.” She frowned. Her tenure as governor of Wentworth had been fraught with her own politics and power games, but she was able to pride herself on feeling that the prison was much less of a catastrophe under her brief reign. Somehow, Jacqueline Holt’s death had become the most mundane event to occur at the prison in the years since her departure. _If this wasn’t so horrendous,_ _I would laugh in Channing’s smug face._  
  
“I think Erica’s understanding of how the prison is run and her familiarity with some of the COs and inmates would be an asset.” Theresa acknowledged. She and Erica had worked together previously and she enjoyed the senior solicitor’s efficiency and attention to all matters of detail. “I doubt having her on as solicitor would effect any sort of due process.”  
  
“Unfortunately,” Erica began. “Our dear defendant was my successor. I’m sure the defense will bring that up. It makes it seem like we, or I specifically, have an agenda.”  
  
“Well, then I’d like you working on this case until the defense complains.” Jim McCraig simpered. He didn’t care; Erica’s insight would be invaluable. The defense could raise their concerns after most of the legwork had been done. The fact that the state wasn’t able to prosecute Joan Ferguson sooner was a tarnish on the OPP’s record as far as he was concerned. While the Director of Public Prosecutions was taking his long overdue holiday, Jim had been saddled with the role of Interim Director in addition to his already busy role as Chief Crown Prosecutor. He felt constantly bombarded with idiocy from all fronts. He hoped that by giving this case to his best solicitor and barrister, things would start to go even a bit more smoothly.  
  
Erica nodded her assent as she stood up to leave. “I’ll get started immediately then. We’ll be in touch, Theresa.” She would need to find Franky Doyle. Her favorite trouble-maker couldn’t be a better resource and was, hopefully, easily accessible.  
  
\- - -  
  
“I thought I’d be seeing more of you around the office,” Franky gibed. She and Erica were seated just down the street from the Office of Public Prosecutions, near the car park. They hadn’t seen each other since Erica had initially offered her the internship at the café. “But two weeks in, here you are.” She clapped her hands in faux excitement.  
  
Erica shook her head, always trying to conceal a smile around her cheeky former charge. “The internship is treating you well then?”  
  
“You want something.” Franky stated, not bothering with small talk. “You’ve always only come to me when you needed something.” She crossed her arms over her chest, though her expression remained open. Erica Davidson hadn’t quite made it off her shit list yet, however she had found it difficult to resist trolling the former governor’s office during coffee breaks. It was so close, yet she had managed to stay away and had quite purposely tried to avoid running into the senior solicitor. She wanted to make it clear – for both of them – that she was there specifically to learn at the Office of Public Prosecutions, not bait Erica.  
  
(During work hours, at least.)  
  
“You know that’s not true, Franky.” Erica frowned. It was only _half-true_ , her favorite. “I’ve been trying to get a handle on you at work for a few days now. Simon’s been keeping the lot of you busy.”  
  
“It’s mostly bitch work.” She sighed. “I was more useful when I was working legal relief.”  
  
“It gets better.” Erica tried to be reassuring, though she was aware that interns rarely got to do anything exciting. She was lucky and had been able to complete her own internship hours at her father’s firm when she was in law school. He had always been comfortable putting his daughter straight to work, even while she still studied. “Also, don’t lay all the blame on me. My office is the next floor up. You could’ve bothered me at any point. That never used to stop you.”  
  
Franky took a sip from her take-away coffee, affording her a second to parse her next words. The work day was over, but she still had a long night ahead. “Well, things change. And as you said, I’ve been busy,” she shrugged. “Now what do you want?”  
  
Erica sighed. Franky would always be a tough nut to crack, even if they were on the best of terms, she mused. That was just how their interactions seemed to work. “I’ve been appointed to a case that I think you could help with.” She paused and added with a look of nonchalance, “Maybe it could get you out of some bitch work.”  
  
Franky eyed the senior solicitor suspiciously. “Go on.”  
  
“What can you tell me about Joan Ferguson?”  
  
“We called her ‘The Freak’.”  
  
“From what I’ve heard so far, that seems like an understatement.”  
  
“That place went to shit after you left, Erica,” Franky said seriously, her green eyes hardening. “You have no idea.” Erica hadn’t read far enough in yet to discover all of the atrocities that occurred under Ferguson’s gloved fist.  
  
Should she apologize? She hadn’t intended to leave Wentworth worse off after her resignation, not that she really had a choice in the matter. Erica crossed her legs uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.

Franky frowned and tapped her hand on the table to get Erica’s attention again. “Oi, we’re not talking about you or what happened to me.” She held Erica’s gaze. She was sure that if she was to help Erica with this case, they would inevitably be spending more time together. Further conversations about each other and what the nature of their relationship was supposed to be could wait until then. “Ferguson is a fuckin’ monster. You didn’t appoint her. I’m just telling you, when you finish going through those files, you’re going to wish that you had fought harder to stay.” _And not just for me._  
  
  
Erica listened as Franky told anecdotes about Ferguson’s punishments and her mistreatment of both the officers and the inmates. She left out any stories about herself, including the fire. Erica would find that out on her own, she was sure.  
  
“I haven’t even finished going through everything related to her.” Erica said. “But, from what you’ve told me so far, I can’t just have you helping out on this case. I’d need you on as a witness.”  
  
“Erica, do you really think you would get the other girls to talk to you?” Franky stared at the blonde seated across from her. “You might not be the Freak, but you were still a screw.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, this is to put away the woman away who tormented them.” Erica said sternly. “Even Bea Smith was supposed to testify at the first trial.”  
  
Franky didn’t remember that. Had Bea told her at one of their meetings? She must have. If Bridget had known, she certainly hadn’t said anything. She cleared her throat. “All the same, I’d be more use to you and this case not as a witness.”  
  
Erica looked past Franky absently; she pursed her lips as she thought. She knew that if she could get Franky to testify, the prosecution’s case would be guaranteed a win. She would call Theresa DeKoenig later to discuss this. Erica had no doubt that the rambunctious ex-con had certainly gotten into trouble during Joan Ferguson’s governorship and knew even more than what she had let on already.  
  
“So, what do you say?”  
  
Erica blinked, turning her attention back to Franky. “I’d say, I’d want you to think about it.”  
  
“It’s been thought about. But, fine.” Franky said as she slapped her hands on the table and stood up to leave. “See you around Miss Davidson.” As she walked away, she turned around to see Erica watching her go. Though Franky thought she could pride herself on reading the senior solicitor _very_ well, she still always found herself wondering what Erica Davidson was really thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if anyone's still looking to read this, but we're starting to get into the meat and potatoes of the story. So there's that!


	7. Chapter 7

There were only so many bail applications one could hole punch before deciding to hole punch their own hand instead, just to be done with it. The prosaic work given to the interns at the Office of Public Prosecutions was enough to make any potential barrister or solicitor consider another career path if this was the only way to get to the top. Franky groaned as she placed yet another form into a large binder. Hadn’t this sort of thing been digitized by now?  
  
“It could be worse, yeah?” chuckled one of the interns. There were four of them in total, and much to Franky’s surprise she was not the oldest of them. She was starting to think that, maybe, even though she lost seven years of her life, she was just where she needed to be (and so was everyone else, for that matter).  
  
“Yeah, could be working with sex crimes, having to photocopy all those pictures,” another said with a look of disgust.  
  
“At least that would be a bit more interesting and give me a legitimate reason for wanting to kill myself,” Franky said. She was trying to line up a stack of forms under the hole puncher. Not that accuracy really mattered, but it gave her something to focus on. “Now I’m just hoping my hand slips and I’m rushed to emergency.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa. What’s this I hear about sex crimes and suicide?” Simon approached the group, more binders and files in tow. “Don’t be so eager to get to that stuff yet. By then you’ll be wishing you were just filing affidavits and bail applications.”  
  
The group of interns collectively rolled their eyes. It wasn’t that they weren’t learning, it’s just that they all wished they could be put to work on something a bit more exciting. Franky hadn’t planned on telling the others about her conversation with Erica the last week, worrying it might make them jealous. She was expecting to speak to the senior solicitor about it again, but had yet to hear from her.  
  
“Fortunately, these files aren’t for you.” Simon smiled. “Take lunch, be back in an hour – an hour and a half.”  
  
Franky nearly sprang out of her chair. Never had lunch sounded so exciting. Though she was quickly halted by Simon while the rest of her colleagues rushed to the elevator.  
  
She suddenly felt defensive about being singled out. What had she done wrong?  
  
“Hey Franky, nothing to worry about.” Simon assured, sensing her sudden tension. “I spoke with Senior Solicitor Davidson. I’m not sure how much you know, but she’d like you to fulfill some of your internship hours directly with her. If it’s alright with you, it’s alright with me.”  
  
“She hadn’t mentioned that,” Franky said, resisting the urge to be cheeky. It was one thing to tease and flirt with Erica when they were alone (or, formerly, in front of COs) but, she had no intention of doing it in front of the senior solicitor’s associates. Through it all, she still had too much respect for the former governor and was immensely grateful that Erica easily could have prevented her from landing this internship, but didn’t. “I know she had a case that she thought I could help with.”  
  
“Yes, expert testimony from Franky Doyle,” Simon laughed. Clearly the joke hadn’t landed when Franky didn’t respond; he hadn’t meant to be condescending. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er...Senior Solicitor Davidson asked me to show you up to her office. You can take lunch a bit later.”  
  
She would be lying if she said she didn’t know that Erica’s office was two floors above. Yet she still had a sense of déjà vu as she followed Simon into the elevator and through the hallways. How many times had she been escorted to and from Erica’s office or the library when they were both still at Wentworth? _The more things change, the more they stay the same,_ Franky thought to herself with a smile.  
  
\- - -  
  
“Don’t work her too hard,” Simon said. “Make sure she takes lunch!” He closed the door gently, leaving Franky and Erica alone in the large corner office.  
  
Erica’s new office was vaguely similar in appearance to the one she had previously held at Wentworth. That same large painting of a cherry blossom branch hung inconspicuously by the bookshelves off towards the back of the room. Franky moved to sit in one of the chairs facing Erica, though not before touching the leaves of the potted orchid perched on her desk as if to confirm that it was indeed real.  
  
“Well isn’t this familiar,” Franky drawled with her usual smarm. “Miss Davidson.” She couldn’t resist. The whole situation felt so surreal, that she had landed back in old habits. She wondered if droll vexations were the only way she knew how to interact with Erica, even when she still felt betrayed.  
  
Erica pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded her head, avoiding Franky’s gaze even just briefly. “I have to admit, I don’t know if I ever imagined being seated in a room like this with you again,” she let out a small laugh.  
  
“What did you imagine then?” Franky’s eyes glinted as she asked. She was baiting.  
  
Naturally, Erica avoided the provocation, though she couldn’t quite conceal her amused expression. “So are you going to agree to be a witness or do I have to get a subpoena?”  
  
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Franky grinned. Though, perhaps it was only Erica who could really ever force her to do _anything_. She became serious to really address the question. “I’d rather not. I’ll help in whatever other way I can.”  
  
Erica sighed. She should have figured that Franky wouldn’t want to be a witness. She tried again. “Franky, I know about the fire at the prison and that you went in to help. You were an eye-witness.”  
  
“I didn’t see her start the fire,” Franky stated. “If you had known, why didn’t you mention it before?”  
  
“It wasn’t in my place. You were the one who experienced it,” Erica said. She would have to tread carefully.  
  
“So once again, you only care when it’s convenient for you to do so.”  
  
“This isn’t about caring or not caring!” Erica hadn’t meant to raise her voice. “We need to have the most effective trial possible to keep this woman away from the people she hurt.” She quickly tried to compose herself, but as far as Franky was concerned, the damage was done.  
  
“You admit you don’t care?” Franky snorted. She rolled her eyes. _Fucking Erica.  
  
__“_ Why are we even arguing about this?” Erica sighed. “You know I’ve cared.” She was very conscious of her use of the past tense.  
  
“Really?” Franky snapped. “You walked out of my life without a word and still ever since we met again you’ve been giving me that goddamn ‘come hither’ look. What the fuck Erica? So now you try to play on my emotions to try and get me to help you. It’s just like before.” She had stood up, her hands placed firmly on either said of the desk in front of her, effectively blocking her from reaching over to Erica.  
  
What ever composure she had, quickly left. She didn’t raise her voice, but spoke with such venom that it even caught Franky off guard. “You’re one to talk. You’ve done the exact same thing.” She was standing up now too, leaning over her desk. “You’ve been exceedingly provocative at nearly every meeting we’ve had. How else am I supposed to appeal to you? It’s clearly the only way you know how to communicate.”  
  
Franky laughed in shock, shaking her head. Erica wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t have a clever rebuttal this time. “Look I do want to help on this case, whether you’ll let me is up to you.”  
  
“This is how you can help,” Erica said shortly.  
  
Erica wouldn’t know that Franky’s hesitation to testify in court in front of Joan Ferguson had its roots in seeing the insane former governor again. Aside from Bridget and deputy governor Will Jackson, Joan Ferguson was one of the few parties aware of Franky’s involvement in the murder of Meg Jackson. No matter how much of an accident it was, she was still very culpable. She knew how manipulative Ferguson was and was almost certain that the Freak would some how manage to bring it up during proceedings if she was there. That could not happen.  
  
“Erica, I can’t be in front of her again,” Franky confessed.  
  
Erica’s expression softened. “We can protect you. She won’t see you.”  
  
“She’ll still know it’s me. You know that,” Franky sighed. She was sitting back in the chair with her head reclined up towards the ceiling.  
  
Erica circled to the front of her desk so that she was now leaning directly across from Franky. She crouched down slightly to meet her at eye-level. “Look, I know nothing I say will ever let you forgive me from leaving you at Wentworth.” She crinkled her hands, as if unsure where to place them. “But, you have to know that I’ve always cared about you beyond your usefulness to me.” _That’s always been part of my problem._ “This case is just too important for me to not ask for whatever I can from you.”  
  
It didn’t escape Franky that Erica had finally “confessed” that she had indeed left her at Wentworth, without saying it was a result of bureaucracy and/or the murder of Jacs Holt – even though they did largely have something to do with it. She watched Erica carefully before saying quietly, “I know. But, how can you say that you care and be fine with what you’d done to me?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Franky and Erica's conversation from the previous chapter.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you,” Erica said with a sigh in her voice. “I had some of my own things that I had to work out too...” She had slid down the front-side of the desk, so that she was now seated awkwardly on the floor in front of Franky’s chair. Her hands were still grasping for something. It occurred to Franky that this was something that Erica must do when trying to decide if she should share something that would put her in a seemingly vulnerable position.  
  
She waited for Erica to continue speaking, but her attention was focused squarely on the floor. Their silence was quickly becoming the loudest thing in the room.  
  
“You could’ve sent a letter or a phone call, or something,” Franky hated the desperation coming from her voice. She looked past Erica to the painting that hung on the back wall. She remembered it from her office before. “And don’t say you couldn’t. If you really wanted to, you would have found a way.”  
  
Erica continued to drum her fingers lightly on the floor. She sounded exhausted when she finally spoke again. “I can assure you that the staff weren’t looking to do me any favors.” While her gaze was no longer cast downwards, she still avoided looking at the woman seated slightly above her.  
  
Did that mean Erica had tried to contact her? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It was so much easier to hold on to being hurt but, hadn’t she been trying to let go of the past?  
  
“Please believe that it wasn’t just about you,” Erica looked up towards Franky, but was outside her line of sight. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I had to secure another job.” What she couldn’t figure out, was why she continued to explain herself to Franky, or rather why it was so important to earn her forgiveness.  
  
“So I was sidelined to your ambition?” Franky laughed sardonically. “I guess it wasn’t the first time.”  
  
Their eyes finally met. “I never meant for that to happen,” Erica said seriously. She wondered if they were both referring to the same incident, where Franky had taken the fall for drugs that were brought in to the prison by one of Erica’s appointed tutors.  
  
It was then that Franky realized that all she wanted from Erica was an apology. An “I’m sorry”. The senior solicitor had said everything but. They were apologies, maybe, but said in such a way that the onus was never really on the former governor. This thought put Franky back on the attack. She was not at all comfortable with how despondent she had sounded before.  
  
“You know what I think?” she sneered. “I think there’ve been a lot of things in your life you never meant to happen. You do certain things because you think you’re supposed to, not because they’re even what you want.” She nodded at Erica’s hands. She had noticed, even at their meeting in the café weeks ago, that Erica was not wearing the engagement ring that she had so purposely flaunted in the past. “How long did it take for you to break it off?”  
  
This frustrated Erica, her restless hands coiling into tight fists to conceal Franky’s observation of her ringless finger. “I don’t wear it to work,” she said sternly, as if the conversation could possibly end there.  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
Erica stood up suddenly, retreating back behind her desk. “I don’t need to talk about this with you.”  
  
In truth, Erica was an opportunist. She felt that it was not to her advantage while working at the Office of Public Prosecutions for her co-workers to know that she was engaged (if she could really even call it that at this point). She hated sharing any bit of her personal life, so the less they knew the better. This was the one place where she didn’t have to be _Mark’s fiancée._ She was fine being known around the office solely as an ambitious senior solicitor.  
  
Franky sat up from the chair she was slouched in and approached the desk. She had decided not to follow Erica, instead allowing the blonde to pretend that she had some sort of barrier between them. “No you don’t, but we’re going to be spending a lot of time together if you want this Ferguson case to run smoothly. If we don’t talk about it now, you don’t think we’re gonna talk about it eventually?” She gently touched the leaves of the orchid, apparently the only non-work related object on Erica’s desk.  
  
“What do you want me to say, Franky?” Erica asked crossly. Her blue eyes were focused on the woman taunting her as she made a startling confession. “That I was attracted you? You and I both know what happened in that office. Just because you thought you had it figured out, doesn’t mean I was...” she paused, trying to find her words. “It doesn’t mean I even knew what was happening between us.” Her face flushed a light red, but from frustration rather than embarrassment. She had called Franky into her office to discuss the impending Ferguson trial, not to talk about their past. Granted, it was bound to happen eventually.  
  
When Franky didn’t immediately interrupt as she anticipated, she continued. “There was no way I could contact you. Getting out of Wentworth meant I’d be able to put my own life back on track, and yes, do what I was supposed to be doing,” she spat. “You didn’t need me there. I’m sorry that Ferguson ran the place into utter shit, that’s my one regret with leaving the way I did.”  
  
“While I appreciate your truthfulness,” Franky mocked. “I know that’s not your only regret.” She plucked a pedal off of the orchid, flicking it towards Erica.  
  
Erica may have said more than ever about how she had felt, but they both knew she was still hesitating and omitting information. They had both effectively moved one step forward and two steps back. Erica’s frustrated little speech was simply the result of being able to collect her thoughts quickly enough. Franky, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to see what would happen when Erica was unable to think on her feet, and thus continued jeering, instead of trying to see things from a perspective that was not just her own.  
  
“You are such a little shit,” Erica blurted out with a groan. She had settled back into her chair and had her hands drawn across her face. “Why can’t we talk about you instead?”

Franky let out a delighted laugh. That was probably the most honest reaction Erica had had to her in years.  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
“Are you sure you can’t get her to testify?” Theresa DeKoenig asked Erica Davidson later that day. “She’d be great to put on the stand.” They were again seated in Jim McCraig’s temporary office, as he continued to assume the role of Interim Director of Public Prosecutions.  
  
“As of right now, no.” Erica said. She flipped the pages of her legal pad aimlessly, avoiding the gazes of Theresa and Jim.  
  
Jim McCraig gave a knowing smile. “You know, Erica, you’ve gotten all sorts of reluctant witnesses in the box before. What’s stopping you now?” While he sounded amiable and non-chalant, this was his own way of saying that he had decided Franky’s testimony would be an integral part of the case against Joan Ferguson and now it was Erica’s responsibility to get her on the stand.  
  
“She’s been through a lot.” admitted Erica. “I don’t want to make her do anything she doesn’t want to.”  
  
It was Theresa’s turn to let out of a small chuckle. “Are you being serious? Since when do you care so much? Isn’t it usually all about the work for you?” Erica’s reputation clearly preceded her.  
  
This was the second time today she was prompted to answer unwanted questions directed specifically at her character. Erica was already sick of it. When did the way she lead her life suddenly become so interesting?  
  
“I don’t lack empathy, Theresa,” she snapped. “Look, I’ll work on it, but Franky’s stubborn. Don’t expect anything. We should look into additional witnesses beyond the ones we’re already considering.”  
  
“We are and we will.” Jim said, opening up one of the many files related to the imminent Ferguson trial. He looked up at Erica, catching her straight in the eye. “However, I expect you to do whatever you have to do to get her on our side. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. I don’t care who she is.” There was, unusually, no humor in his voice.  
  
Erica shuddered internally. This wasn’t the first time she’d been told that she’d have to do whatever she could with Franky Doyle.  
  
And once again, Erica had her scruples.


	9. Chapter 9

_The room felt familiar, though it was unrecognizable in the dim light. There were no windows or visible fixtures. She couldn’t tell what was giving the room its dark sepia tint.  
  
She continued to look around the seemingly empty __space_ _and then down at herself, pulling at the singlet and trackpants that she didn’t remember putting on. Before she could begin to recall what had brought her here, she blinked her eyes to find that she was now sitting in a simple oaken chair in the middle of the room.  
  
She squinted ahead to see a door open. __A woman crossed the threshold towards her with a confident stride. She was_ almost _immaculately dressed in business attire._ _Her blouse was the exception. It was quite_ _notably unbuttoned. Even from the distance she could see the peak of black lace beneath. The woman caught her staring and chuckled, not hiding her amusement for a change.  
  
“Erica?” She heard herself say. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Erica approached closer, but was still standing about a meter away. She didn’t answer the question and began to speak immediately, as if __continuing_ _a conversation_ _that_ _had already been happening. “There has to be something I can offer you in return.”  
  
“What?” She asked. “Is this about court? I already told you--.”  
  
“I’m sure we can find a solution that’s mutually beneficial,” Erica rasped __hotly_ _into her ear, suddenly far more into her personal space than what would be considered appropriate. “What do you want Franky?”  
  
Franky swallowed. She wanted to speak, she even tried to speak, but found that she could form no words. She looked at Erica with hesitant eyes.  
  
“Show me.”  
  
She saw Erica’_ _s_ _draped_ _arms around_ _her shoulders, their mouths dangerously close. She simultaneously wanted to reciprocate her touch, and push her away. She tried to move her hands, but found that, much like her voice, they didn’t seem to work. She looked_ _down_ _to see her hands bound to the chair. They were free before? Weren’t they?  
  
As Erica entered her line of sight again, Franky balked with horror. Erica's blonde hair was matted with blood and bleeding __profusely_ _, having spit up on both of their clothing. She staggered backwards as Franky watched a crimson blotter quickly grow larger on Erica’s abdomen.  
  
She tried to get up to help, but was still tied to the chair – immobile. She tried to scream for help, but was still mute.  
  
“I think you know what is and isn’t a good idea, don’t you Doyle?” She heard another voice rumble from behind her. “You wouldn’t want to have to play witness, would you?”  
  
Suddenly, a black gloved hand reached around and tightly covered her mouth. They stifled the scream that her lungs now allowed._  
  
-  
  
Franky awoke with a start, a cold sweat up and down her body. She breathed heavily, trying to gather her surroundings. She knew she was in a bed. There was a ceiling fan humming above her and a digital clock flashing 4:37 AM beside her. She stumbled up into the darkness, knowing that there must be an en-suite somewhere.  
  
  
She quickly splashed her face and gazed at her reflection in the mirror, suddenly feeling nauseous as tired green eyes stared back. She moved towards the toilet and began dry-heaving.  
  
A knock on the door. “Franky, hon, you alright?” It was Bridget. She was at Bridget’s.  
  
“Yeah...” she muttered, the upper-half of her body splayed over the toilet, while her legs were a crumpled mess on the floor. “Might’ve been the pho,” she lied.  
  
Bridget frowned, her ear on the door. She had eaten the same as Franky for dinner that night. They had decided to try the new Vietnamese restaurant that opened nearby. “Let me get you a glass of water.” She jiggled the knob of the door, only to find it locked.  
  
“I’ll be fine, just give a second,” Franky said. She watched the knob rattle, thankful for the moment of privacy. _It was just a dream. It was just a dream._  
  
It had been quite some time since she'd had to repeat that mantra to herself.

  
  
\- - -  
  
  
  
“Rough night?” Erica would ask a bit later that morning. She had set down both cups of coffee on the small table, before settling into the chair opposite of a still exhausted looking Franky Doyle.  
  
Franky held the warm cup between her hands. She was grateful that her bizarre dream hadn’t included visions of monsters in the foam of flat whites. That would’ve made it much more difficult to enjoy. “Yeah, bad dream,” she said with a bashful look. “I used to have them all the time, but this was the first one in awhile.” She paused, running her finger around the edge of the mug. “It was particularly vivid...”  
  
Erica eyed her carefully across the table. “Do you want to talk about it?” she allowed, hesitant if she and Franky were ever at the point where she could ask that question.  
  
“Not really,” she smiled grimly. “Maybe some other time.”  
  
Erica nodded, though she was not satisfied with the answer. She knew enough not to push Franky when she was in one of her moods, at least not right now. She stumbled awkwardly into the next subject. “Well despite that, thank you for finding the time to meet on such short notice. I know you’re not due in for a few more days, and I wanted to talk to you before then.” Outside the office of prying ears, apparently.  
  
“You know some people talk on the phone,” Franky grinned. She looked animated for the first time.  
  
Erica smiled at this. “I wanted to see you,” she said honestly. Her most recent span of meetings hadn’t sat well with her. It seemed that Theresa and Jim continued to imply that Franky was simply to be used as a pawn for the prosecution and Erica’s role was being defined by them less as “senior solicitor”, and more as “Franky-wrangler”. She didn’t like that, least of all because she didn’t like being told what to do. _At least, that was the half-truth she was sticking with._  
  
As a result, she had decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to start being a little more honest about her intentions with and concerning Franky Doyle (which was certainly not the easiest endeavor to begin with). That belied, after all, its own personal dangers.  
  
“Oh, Miss Davidson,” Franky gave a rakish snigger. Who knew that being able to tease Erica would make her feel even a hair better? It was certainly better than seeing her favorite solicitor as a bloody heap on the floor.  
  
Erica shook her head, pretending to look annoyed at Franky’s amusement, but failing. “Seriously.” She almost reached out to cover Franky’s hand. _Almost._ “It’s about the case.”  
  
“Erica, I’m not--,” Franky began to say, before being quickly cut off.  
  
“Let me finish,” she interrupted. “For a change, I want to tell you what’s happening so you’re in the loop.” She grimaced self-consciously. “Those _actually_ in charge of the case have decided that your testimony would be more than valuable for this trial. I happen to agree.”  
  
Franky again began to protest, but was once more halted by Erica. This time with a silent hand.  
  
“However. I don’t want to put you in that situation, if that’s not what you want,” Erica said. “I know that I’ve made you do things you didn’t necessarily want to do, and may have...” she paused, swallowing her words. “...taken advantage of your trust.”  
  
“Erica, wait,” Franky was finally able to get a word in. “Almost everything you had asked me to do at Wentworth, I did because I wanted to.” They locked eyes. “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t often see through your scheming bullshit.” She grinned, as Erica looked away with an embarrassed blush.  
  
Erica offered a timid smile in return. “Well, this isn’t a scheme. I want to do the right thing by you this time.”  
  
“Only this one time?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. Would Franky ever let her be sincere for more than a moment? “I still hope that you change your mind about testifying but, the crowns can think whatever they want of me for now.” Hopefully her scoff wasn’t too apparent. “What I will ask you to do, is help me go through the list of witnesses to find equally, if not more, effective testimony.”  
  
Franky nodded, her eyes smiling. “I can do that.” Though, in the back of her mind she hoped that Erica truly didn’t have any ulterior motives – like slithering her way back into good graces simply for the benefit of the prosecution. _How do I know that I can really trust you again?  
  
_ She found herself willing to take that chance. _  
  
  
_ * * * _  
  
  
_ Erica looked away from her monitor with a quizzical expression. “Who?”  
  
“Vinegar-tits,” Franky repeated, tapping the list of potential witnesses on Erica’s desk. “She and the Freak had some sort of _thing_ , but I reckon she hates her even more than I do now.” She chuckled. It was always easier to laugh about Wentworth now that she was far from its gates.  
  
“I honestly have no idea who you’re talking about,” Erica stated with a bemused smile. “She must’ve been after my time. Was she an inmate?” She reached over to nab the witness list from Franky so that she could have a look for herself.  
  
“No way! Wait...” Franky laughed, suddenly realizing that the nickname hadn’t presented itself until well after Erica’s tenure at the prison. “That’s what we started to call Miss Bennett—Vera.”  
  
Erica raised her eyebrows, immediately trying to stifle a snorted laugh into her hand. _  
  
_ (Franky was always more than delighted when witnessing an actually organic response from Erica Davidson; this laugh was one of those occasions.) _  
  
_ “How did she--,” Erica began to ask. She was still trying to reconcile how the mousy Vera Bennett she remembered was awarded such a moniker. “You know what, I don’t want to know.” She muttered, with an eye roll, “I can only imagine what sorts of names you and the staff gave me”.  
  
She was referring to the “general you”, not specifically Franky Doyle, but that wasn’t about to stop the former inmate for taking the opportunity to twist words as she saw fit.  
  
“I can’t say about the screws or the other girls,” Franky drawled. “But I may have had a few names for you.”  
  
Erica frowned. “As I said, I can only imagine,” she said dryly. She had made it a point to practice trying not to get flustered. Unfortunately, she couldn’t will away the flush that started just below her collarbone and was making its way up to her cheeks.  
  
“I’m sure you did.”  
  
“We’re not doing this right now,” Erica said dismissively. She turned her attention back to the computer screen in front of her, scrolling back through archived information regarding Joan Ferguson’s first attempted trial. She found it curious that Ferguson was some how deemed psychologically fit to be released into gen-pop while incarcerated.  
  
“Maybe we can do it later then.” She couldn’t resist trying to get a rise out of Erica. The lack of any further response meant the solicitor clearly wasn’t keen to play. Apparently when Erica said that they were going to be getting to work on the trial, she really meant it – no kidding around (for more than a few seconds, anyway). Franky should have known. _Go figure.  
  
_ “Did you know the psychologist who is on staff at the prison?” Erica asked. “I still can’t seem to find records of Ferguson’s initial evaluations from while she was at Thomas Embling or even later at St. Vincent’s. I know she definitely would have been evaluated by someone once she got to Wentworth. It’d be helpful to get those notes and their perspective.”  
  
Franky knew it was an innocent question. Erica wouldn’t, couldn’t, have known otherwise. As a lawyer, she was simply trying to gather information regarding the trial. That’s why they were continuing to meet, even outside office hours, right? _Just for the trial._  
  
_But still_... Was this point where she was supposed to reveal that she was more than simply “familiar” with the prison’s forensic psychologist?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up from where we last left off in Erica's office at the OPP.

Fortunately for Franky, she didn’t have to begin to explain her relationship with Wentworth’s forensic psychologist to Erica or anyone else. At least not yet. Senior Crown Prosecutor Theresa DeKoenig entered Erica’s corner office without so much as a knock, complete in her barrister’s gown and with wig in hand.  
  
“Do we have any word yet on Smith’s current condition? If you’re able to meet with her, I’d like to be there--,” she began speaking, assuming Erica to be alone. She eyed the dark haired woman sitting across from the senior solicitor. “You must be Ms. Doyle. Glad to see you.” She nodded. This was good, she thought. After their last meeting, she wasn’t sure Erica was even trying to get the imminent witness on their side.  
  
  
_“_ _Look, I understand that you have some sort of ‘history’. What I don’t understand is why all of a sudden Erica ‘do whatever it takes’ Davidson is suddenly working with kid gloves,” Theresa stated. She and Erica were alone, the_ _s_ _enio_ _r_ _c_ _rown_ _p_ _rosecutor_ _having asked Jim McCraig to attend their bi-weekly conference a bit later. She had thought that maybe a “one on one” with the senior solicitor would do some good.  
  
“I’m not,” __r_ _efuted_ _Erica_ _. “There is nothing between us other than our shared time at Wentworth,” she insisted, not that Theresa was implying otherwise. “However, I don’t understand why Franky has become our focal witness. We have Novak willing to talk and the CCTV footage and I’m sure we can get additional footage of Ferguson’s attack on Smith.”  
  
“And we just forget the arson __and everything else she did at Wentworth_ _?” Theresa asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. “We are prosecuting on multiple charges and I want this to be all or nothing.”  
  
“That’s illogical...” Erica said __halfheartedly_ _,_ _though she knew very well that even if Joan Ferguson received a life sentencing for the murder and attempted murder charges, it was still a case half-won. Personally, Franky aside, she would never have settled for that. Theresa knew that_ _too_ _.  
  
“_ _You and I both know t_ _hat’s bullshit,” admonished the_ _barrister_ _. When Erica had nothing to say but a look of contempt, she continued. “Jim might have put you on this case, and hell, I would have too. But, if you aren’t doing_ all of _your job as solicitor, I’_ _ll_ _find someone who will.”_ _She paused. “Hopefully, I will only have to say this once.”_ _  
  
The two women had to quickly settle into looks of agreement, as __Jim McCraig entered the office, telling an off-color joke about the latest government scandal he had_ _been presented with_ _._  
  
  
“Franky, this is Theresa,” Erica said, trying to cover her look of annoyance with a tight smile. There was really only one person who could barge into her office unannounced that would be a pleasant surprise. “She’s the senior crown prosecutor on the Ferguson case.”

Franky looked over to the tall barrister. She was very intense looking, she had to admit, with hawkish features. Franky imagined that Theresa DeKoenig would destroy whoever the defense had on the stand. _Smith? As in Red? What’s this case actually about?_ She realized that Erica had given her very little information about what exactly the state was prosecuting Ferguson for. Not that she technically cared. Anything to lock the Freak away was good enough for her.  
  
“Unfortunately, last I heard she’s still in hospital. Breathing on her own, but in a medically induced coma,” she heard Erica say. She felt like maybe this was a conversation she wasn’t supposed to be a part of, but curiosity kept her in her seat. “Ferguson’s team is still claiming self-defense on that end, but given the severity of her injuries, we’re in a good place.”  
  
Theresa remained in the threshold of the doorway, one foot in the hall. “Are you still planning on meeting with Novak tomorrow?” Erica nodded the affirmative. “Good. Keep me posted. I have to get to court.” She was about to head out, before turning around. “Nice to meet you Franky. Hopefully, Erica is doing her job.” Though she smiled at her supposed witness, her eyes belied a different message to a now rather stern looking senior solicitor.  
  
“Of course,” Erica exhaled through her words. She was glaring daggers at the barrister until she closed the door, leaving the two of them back to their devices.  
  
“What was that?” Franky asked when they were alone. She imagined that Erica didn’t like her authority undermined, but was rather surprised to see it on her face.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Erica shook her head. Franky didn’t need to know that Jim and Theresa saw her as a bargaining chip and that Erica was effectively standing in their way (though, she told herself, that she wasn’t even sure why). “What were we talking about?”  
  
Senior Crown Prosecutor DeKoenig’s interruption was something of a blessing for Franky, as it had knocked Erica off course. She saw this as a good time not only to sway the direction of conversation away from Bridget Westfall, but to ask if the Smith they had been referring to was who she thought it was.  
  
Erica shifted in her seat. The information wasn’t necessarily classified, but both she and Franky were a little too close to the matters at hand. “It’s Bea,” she acknowledged, relaying the second attempted murder charge the state was prosecuting, in addition to the litany of others.  
  
“Fuck...” Franky placed her face in her hands. Maybe she would have to take the stand after all.

* * *  
  
  
Bridget Westfall sat at her desk deep in thought. It had been a normal conversation, but she had still felt strange about it. Maybe it was because of who she spoke to. Maybe because she had expected a different conversation all together.  
  
_“Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Westfall?”  
  
“Yes, speaking?” She responded to the voice on the other end of the line._  
  
_“_ _I’m senior solicitor Erica Davidson calling from the Office of Public Prosecutions. I’m working on the state’s case against the former governor Joan Ferguson. Do you have a moment?”  
  
Bridget __briefly_ _paused,_ _surprised by the identity of the caller_ _. Erica Davidson sounded both friendly and professional_ _and clearly unaware that_ _she,_ _Dr. Westfall,_ _knew anything about their shared connection to/_ _with_ _Wentworth_ _._ _Franky had spoken very little about the senior solicitor, something that Bridget found surprising. Perhaps she had been telling the truth when she had said that she’d barely run into her esteemed ex-governor. Bridget found that exceedingly hard to believe, but_ _had_ _decided not to press the subject.  
  
“If now is_ _n’t_ _a good time, I could give you my contact information,” Erica said.  
  
“Oh, no it’s fine. Sorry,” Bridget nodded. __She_ _chose_ _not to ask if_ _the woman on the other end_ _was_ _indeed_ _the same Erica Davidson who had governed the prison_ _in_ _years past, though she obviously knew the answer._ _“What can I help you with?”  
  
_ Erica had explained the lack of mental health records on file for Joan Ferguson and asked if Bridget had made her own evaluations while Ferguson was initially incarcerated at Wentworth. They had agreed to meet at Erica’s office the following week. Bridget was to bring any information she had collected on Ferguson to the OPP. The doctor was more than willing to discuss anything that would help finish the Freak, hopefully once and for all.  
  
Though, she must admit, she was certainly curious to meet this Erica Davidson, who had been so entranced by Franky Doyle and vise versa. _  
  
_  
\- - -  
  
  
Seamus’s was a bit of a dive bar located about three blocks away from the Office of Public Prosecutions. Outwardly, with its flickering signage, dark windows, and shabby iron-gated patio, it didn’t seem like the type of place lawyers and officials would frequent (and honestly, despite their protests, it probably wasn’t). However, on Fridays they had a brief “five dollar on call whiskys" special, which made it a very appealing haunt for exhausted senior solicitors and their cheeky interns.  
  
They were seated across from each other in a small booth towards the back of the space. The evening rush hadn’t quite started yet, so the bar was fairly empty.  
  
“Can you be honest with me?” Erica asked, her manicured nails made a slight clinking sound as she grabbed her glass. It was surprising to Franky, who had ordered first, that Erica hadn’t ordered a mixed drink, but rather simply two fingers of Starward – neat. She had readily conceded with a laugh that her own Old Fashioned seemed wimpy by comparison.  
  
“You might want to get off of your high horse there first, Miss Davidson,” Franky replied with a grin.  
  
Erica frowned, “I think I’ve been honest with you about this trial and my role in it.”  
  
_Oh._ _The trial. Right.  
  
_ What else would they have been talking about? Certainly they had been spending a lot of time together both in and out of the office, though it was under the guise of work. This past week and a half had been particularly stressful for Erica, as she had earlier been chewed out by senior crown prosecutor Theresa DeKoenig. She kept Franky visibly close by, hoping to continue to give Theresa the assumption that maybe they would have the intern as a witness after all. It was definitely one of her better subconscious excuses.  
  
While Franky enjoyed spending time with Bridget, she had to admit that being able to hang around someone closer to her in age had its appeal. Sometimes, she really felt like she and the doctor had nothing to talk about aside from her own thought processes and the latest drama in classes or at the prison. It was nice to find out that she and Erica had things in common, and could enjoy discussing, perhaps, more frivolous topics like whether or not _The Great Muppet Caper_ was the best Muppets’ movie (Erica had preferred _Muppet Treasure Island - “_ _I can’t believe you’re comparing this case to the Muppets_ _,” she_ _had said sternly, before adding under her breath: “Treasure Island is better anyway. Tim Curry and Kermit are both in it_ _.”_ ).  
  
So of course, Erica would be asking her about the trial and not _anything else._ Not that she expected her to. Not that she _wanted_ her to. _  
  
_ “Right, yeah. Shoot,” Franky nodded, raising her glass. She felt foolish for thinking that Erica was going to ask about _them_ , instead.  
  
“Despite what the crowns are thinking, I’m not going to force you on to testify,” Erica reiterated.  
“...though perhaps, against my better judgment,” she added with a sly smile. “I know Ferguson is awful and having to revisit your time with her at Wentworth would be difficult, but you never told me why you really didn’t want to. I would have thought you’d relish in the opportunity to bring her down.”  
  
Franky took a large gulp of her drink and looked behind her. A handful of patrons were beginning to mull through the bar. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready to tell Erica fully why she couldn’t be in court in front of Joan Ferguson, especially now. However, with the new influx of people around them, the decision was clearly made for her. Even if she wanted to, this was definitely not the place.  
  
“I’ll tell you...” Her hesitation was quite apparent. “...just not here,” she nodded to indicate their increasing set of company.  
  
Erica sensed the change in energy. She sipped her drink quietly, not sure how to to redirect their conversation to lighter terms. They remained in an uncomfortable silence until they both finished their drinks. The increasing din and merriment of the other patrons put seconds off the table.  
  
-  
  
They stood in the car park just beside Erica’s car. This was when they should part. Erica was already fiddling with the set of keys in her hand.  
  
“It’s about Governor Jackson,” Franky began quietly, suddenly. She should tell Erica now, before they got too close again, give the senior solicitor the opportunity to hop into her Audi and drive away and ask herself: _“what the hell was I thinking?”_ , never to think about their relationship again.

Is that what she really wanted? No, Franky didn’t want to lose Erica’s newfound friendship, but she’d rather lose her now rather than later. She already felt herself getting too close. If Erica Davidson decided that _this_ was too much, at least it was before they were both in too deep.  
  
Erica looked up quizzically. That was a name she hadn’t heard in awhile. She quickly pieced together that this wasn’t a random recollection, but rather Franky referring back to their very short conversation about tesifying.  
  
“Do you remember the riot? Right before you became governor?” Franky asked. She didn’t wait for a response and tried to maintain eye contact. “I killed her.”

A laugh was hardly the reaction she had expected. It had seemed that any time Erica had encountered an uncomfortable truth, her initial reaction was to cover the side of her neck, chuckle, and deflect whatever it was she was just told.  
  
Unfortunately, for Franky, this situation was no different. Though, once Erica noticed the rigid expression on her companion’s face, she quickly realized that this was not a laughing matter.  
  
“You’re serious,” said Erica, running a hand through her hair. Her shock was evident in her tone of voice. “Jesus Christ.” She had so many questions. Though, quite inappropriately, the first thought in the back of her mind was: _I guess I should_ _have_ _thank_ _ed_ _you for opening the job up for me._  
  
“It was an accident,” Franky said, swallowing hard to prevent her voice from quavering. She leaned on the side of the car for a moment before sliding her way down to the pavement. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was her, I thought it---” the words continued to rush from her mouth as she desperately tried to explain what had happened that day.  
  
Erica stood still for a moment, her expression grave. This was it. She could walk away from all of this. _This._ Whatever it was still between them. She could use, she _should_ use, the information Franky just gave her and force her into testifying against Ferguson – or else. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time she had used “blackmail” to get a witness on the State’s side and it would definitely make her work life easier. Jim McCraig was well aware of her cut-throat administration of the justice system; it’s why he placed her on this case. Theresa hadn’t called her “Do Whatever it Takes” and “Always Business” for nothing. But, while these thoughts ran through Erica Davidson’s mind, she found that she didn’t want to walk away from Franky Doyle (again, this time). Be that if it meant by simply leaving all together, manipulation, or continuing to put up personal walls.  
  
She soon smoothed her skirt so she could sit down next to Franky, who was looking straight ahead, her hands on her forehead. Erica tentatively placed her own arm around her disconcerted companion’s shoulder. Much to her surprise, the contact wasn’t shunned, and instead, Franky rested her head in the crook between Erica’s neck and shoulder. For the second time that night they sat in silence together.  
  
“I thought you’d drive away as fast as you could,” she muttered after some time had passed.  
  
“Is that why you told me here?” Erica chuckled softly, running her hand tenderly up-and-down Franky’s back. She knew continuing their banter any further was beyond poor taste, but appreciated that Franky was trying to veer away from the seriousness of what she just confessed.  
  
“She knows. And she’ll tell whoever she needs to if she finds out I’m anywhere close to this case”  
  
Erica shook her head. They would cross that bridge eventually. As far as she knew, there was no proof beyond what she had personally (and somewhat gladly) charged Jacqueline Holt for years ago. And it was an accident – right? She really wanted to believe that. _She did believe it_. She realized, of all things, Franky had never lied to her. She unfortunately, couldn’t say the same.  
  
“It doesn’t change anything.” Erica’s voice sounded barely a murmur. Franky sighed, her eyes closing as she felt a gentle kiss placed just above her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was hesitant to post this one up, simply because I'm not sure if I wanted this all to happen yet. Let me know what you think! Life's been busy, but there's more to come soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Bridget Westfall looked critically at the large “L1” sign in the lobby of the Office of Public Prosecutions, hoping that it would lead her to yet another, more detailed directory. She could hear the escalators humming ominously nearby...somewhere. Sure, she could just take the stairs in front of her, go a floor up (assuming that’s where it went), maybe find a guard to help her – but shouldn’t there be some sort of information desk in the _lobby_ of a governmental building? Maybe she’d passed it without realizing it while wandering around the building’s maze-like halls.  
  
Lawyers never seemed to make anything easy, Bridget mused. She sighed, deciding to try another corridor. At least she was early.  
  
“Gidget!” Bridget didn’t even get within two meters of the “L1” sign when Franky spotted her, though sporting a rather confused smile. “What brings you here?”  
  
“I should ask you the same,” Bridget smiled back. “Didn’t think they called you in on Thursdays. I would’ve hitched a ride with you earlier.” _I wonder if Franky knows where the senior solicitors’ offices are. She at least knows her way around here better than me._  
  
“They don’t,” Franky confirmed with a nod. “But I’ve been helping Er...the prosecution with a case. I don’t have class until tonight, and they asked if I could be here for a bit.” It wasn’t a lie, completely. Erica and Theresa had discovered some new information regarding a suspect involved with the accident and arson involving a witness that was supposed to appear at Ferguson’s first trial.  
  
He was apparently a Wentworth employee. A new CO and thus a name that Erica definitely didn’t recognize. Of course her first thought was to ask if her “expert counsel” (or any of the contacts known by said “expert counsel”) knew anything. Franky didn’t hesitate to head to the OPP that morning, though she did neglect to mention over the phone that the CO, Jake Stewart, was after her time. Erica didn’t need to know that. The prosecution easily could have researched him without her anyway. It was a good excuse as any to see Erica after their last encounter.  
  
Bridget wondered if they were both now involved in the Ferguson trial, but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask. Rules of confidentiality, Franky as an intern, it all seemed like it could be complicated.  
  
“I was just about to head out. Do you want to grab lunch?” Franky asked. Her brow furrowed, still unsure why Bridget was at the OPP. She was becoming very conscious about separating her home and work life.  
  
I can’t actually--” Bridget began to say, when she heard another voice from above her and Franky.  
  
“You two do know each other – excellent! Franky hadn’t mentioned,” Erica Davidson cheered, as she descended the staircase, having seen the pair. She appeared next to Franky, reaching her hand out to Bridget with a demure smile. “You must be Dr. Westfall. I’m Erica Davidson.” She recognized her image from preliminary web-searches.  
  
“Erica…?” Franky paled. How was this happening?  
  
Bridget tried not to look overly critical of the senior solicitor as she smiled and returned the handshake. Erica Davidson obviously had no clue of what she had just put herself in the middle of. “Is Franky working with your office?”   
  
Erica smiled, tentatively placing her hand on the small of Franky’s back. “She’s been completing some of her hours with me in regards to the Ferguson trial. She’s been more than helpful.”

Franky looked comically nervous, Bridget was glaring at Franky, and Erica remained oblivious. She was excited to have both a staff member and former inmate on the same page regarding Joan Ferguson. It would make the prosecution’s case so much easier.

“That’s good to know,” Bridget said curtly, though her eyes were fixated on Franky. They were going to have to talk later about _lies of omission_. “I hope she’s been behaving herself.”  
  
Erica immediately removed her hand from Franky, as if not sure how it had found its way there. “Usually.” She laughed self-consciously.  
  
She wasn’t the only one relieved that her phone began to ring. “No I didn’t forget, Mark. I’ll be right over.” Erica looked over to Bridget, “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to be this early. I have to run an errand. If you take these stairs, take the elevator to the 7 th floor. My office is down on the left corner. I should be back in 20 minutes.” She turned to Franky, “Franky can buy you a coffee while you wait, fill you in on what’s been going on.” She smiled again, blissfully unaware of the double meaning her words carried.  
  
“I hope she will,” Bridget said. Her eyes didn’t follow Erica as she rushed out of the lobby, back on her phone.  
  
Franky had almost hoped she could have edged out behind Erica. She needed to take an exit and collect her thoughts.  
  
“Cuppa?” It wasn’t a question. “You have time.” Bridget eyed Franky carefully.  
  
She swallowed, suddenly not feeling as nervous. There was nothing to worry about, right? Erica clearly had no idea that Bridget Westfall was anything more than Franky’s former therapist. Bridget, on the other hand, had some suspicions of her own.  
  
“If not now, then later Franky.” Bridget sighed. Her psychologist hat was on. “I worry about you. Why didn’t you mention that you’d been _working_ with Erica? Are you alright with seeing her?” She’d seen Franky’s file, the letters, heard Channing’s lectures on “professionalism”. Not that she was really in a position to cast the first stone regarding that one, the voice in back of her mind reminded.  
  
While she was worried about Franky’s well being, she was also worried about _anything else_ that may be happening between the senior solicitor and her clearly favorite intern.

“It’s nothing. She’s mostly my boss. I don’t see her that much.” Franky insisted. She lead Bridget to a tiny café station located within the OPP’s lobby.  
  
“Mostly.” Bridget repeated with a smirk. “What’s the other part?”  
  
Franky frowned. “Even if there was another part, which there isn’t, maybe not a conversation we should have here, yeah?” There was a hint of irritation coming from her voice.  
  
Bridget conceded with a sigh. She wanted to trust Franky around Erica, she really did. But she also knew their history, and knew Franky. She didn’t miss Erica’s reaction, when she had asked whether or not Franky was behaving.  
  
Bridget allowed that, even if Franky said “it was nothing”, “something” was certainly brewing for Erica Davidson.  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
_“Let me give you a ride back,” Erica said. She stood up and reached her arm out to Franky. “You didn’t drive in today, right?”  
  
Franky looked up, still forlorn over the information she had just given Erica. How on Earth was she still standing in front of her? Holding out her hand, no less. Even Bridget had to walk away, though briefly, when she first found out about Meg Jackson.  
  
She allowed Erica to pull her up from her position __at_ _the_ _foot of the_ _car. Their eyes met, and Erica released her hand.  
  
  
“I don’t understand,” said Franky. She looked out the window, watching early-drunk pedestrians tottle through a crosswalk.  
  
“What?” Erica asked, watching Franky from the corner of her eye.  
  
“I’ve done a lot of horrible things. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for doing what I just told you,” she paused. “But you’re still here. Like you don’t care __that I..._ _”_ _It was still so hard to say: took a life. Needlessly._ _  
  
Erica shifted her car into gear, giving her a moment to consider her words. “I do care.” Her eyes were back on the road in front of her. “What good would it do for me to walk away from you knowing that?”  
  
__No response, so she continued. “I believe you when you said it was_ _an_ _accident._ _I_ _f there’s anything I do know about you,_ _it’s_ _that you_ _have always been honest with me._ _”  
  
“_ _What if I’m not?_ _I could hurt y_ _ou, too.”_ _  
  
“You could,” Erica let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. Violence wouldn’t be what hurt her. “But I’_ _ve_ _hurt you. Maybe then we’_ _d_ _be even.”  
__  
Franky looked over to Erica curiously, but the senior solicitor’s eyes remained squarely focused on the road.  
__  
__“Franky, I’ve both prosecuted and defended violent crimes. You and I both know who is and isn’t cold-blooded. You aren’t one of them. Things happen. It’s life, unfortunately.”  
  
Franky was surprised at Erica’s pragmatism. __They continued in silence until s_ _he felt the car stop. She_ _looked out the window to see Bridget’s home, lights already out. It was the first address that_ _had_ _popped into her head when Erica_ _had_ _asked where to drop her off.  
  
“Try not to think so hard,” Erica said as much to herself, as to Franky.  
  
“You’re one to talk--” she started, but Erica had cut her off with a __hesitant, but slow and_ _gentle kiss._

 _I_ _t was over almost as suddenly as it began. Erica unlocked the door. “Call me if anything comes up.” Her voice tried to sound businesslike, but was cracking._  
  
_Franky stepped out of car, grabbing her bag, still trying to process what just happened. Before she could, Erica had driven away, looking completely shocked from her own actions ._  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
“ Thank you for being patient,” Erica said, unlocking the door to her office, leading in Dr. Bridget Westfall. “My...fiancé,” she forced the word out. “And I have been trying to make more of an effort to see each other, at least briefly, during the day.”   
  
Mark had, surprisingly, been home the Friday evening Erica had decided to “try not to think so hard”. That had turned into a conversation about trying to match schedules. Erica had agreed before she even realized what Mark had suggested, still in something of a daze.  
  
“It’s fine.” Bridget nodded, settling into a chair. “It gave me a chance to catch up with Franky, too.” She eyed the interior of Erica’s office. There were no pictures or anything to suggest she was interested in anything but law and, maybe, tending to an orchid.  
  
“Great,” Erica said with a smile. “It’d be great to have a meeting with both of you to compare notes.”  
  
_I suppose there is nothing to worry about between them._ But she felt like she had to ask anyway. “You knew Franky from Wentworth too.” She treaded carefully, trying to phrase it as a question.  
  
Erica’s brow furrowed. Bridget, she inferred, had been Franky’s therapist. She wasn’t sure how much, in turn, Dr. Westfall already knew about her solely from Franky’s file and admissions. She realized that she didn’t like that. “I did. She was a great student. It’s nice to see her again.” She said politely, shutting down the conversation.

Bridget had to acquiesce. She had come here to deliver and discuss psychiatric reports of Joan Ferguson. That was admittedly, more important, than trying to discover any potential indiscretions.   


  
Franky, meanwhile, took her daily run as far as she could from the Office of Public Prosecutions. She would be staying at her own flat tonight, she decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! If you're still curious, there is definitely more to come. To be honest, I've had this chapter thought up for awhile, but only recently had the chance to write it out.


	12. Chapter 12

“What would the odds be of the prosecution getting a meeting with Joan Ferguson?” Erica glanced over the notes that Dr. Westfall had brought to her a few days earlier. “You would have to be present, of course, but maybe she’d wave her attorney and we’d actually be able to get somewhere.”  
  
“I wouldn’t even want to be present,” groused Bridget, her office phone held to her ear. “Telling you that ‘she’s a handful’ doesn’t give her enough credit, unfortunately.” She thought back to a moment of lost control while meeting Ferguson in isolation. She knew that calling a patient a “cunt”, even a patient like Joan Ferguson, would be seen as “troublesome” by the board. Amongst other things...  
  
“I think the State would be in some trouble if we were in a room with a defendant completely unsupervised.” Erica laughed lightly. “Unless of course we can show it was voluntary,” she added as an aside.  
  
Bridget laughed as well, though she never thought she and Erica Davidson would be laughing together over anything. She was trying to remain impartial and professional, as the senior solicitor had done nothing to indicate she was a “threat” to Bridget’s personal life – despite intuition telling her otherwise.   
  
“Well, it’s fairly easy for me to schedule any sort of evaluation, but you’ll probably have to contact Vera for permission to attend,” she continued.  
  
“Vera? Bennett?” asked Erica.  
  
“She’s governor now, after all.” Bridget said, as if it were information Erica should have known already.  
  
“Go figure,” she shrugged. Mousy Vera Bennett had finally gotten her day as governor. Erica wondered how her former lieutenant was handling the role. Probably a bit better than she had in retrospect, she thought with a laugh. “I’ll talk to the rest of prosecution but, expect to be in touch within the next week. Thank you for your assistance.”  
  
Erica sounded excited, like perhaps this case had a chance of making some semblance of sense. Bridget had to smile. She so wanted to think of Erica Davidson as having some sort of sinister intent and influence but, it was difficult to place her into that role. This perhaps, she thought, said more about her own insecurities.  
  
She wondered if it would now be alright to ask about Franky. After all, by Erica and Franky’s own admissions they’d been working together on this case. Certainly that was information the solicitor would be willing to share.  
  
“She’s doing well,” Erica would reply in response. “Though, I’ve had her working more with the other interns this past week.” For what purpose? Perhaps some space to reflect on what had happened in her car last Friday. “Is she still seeing you for therapy?” She selfishly hoped not. Erica was still very uncomfortable with Bridget Westfall knowing anything about her, especially from Franky’s perspective.  
  
_Is she still seeing you for therapy_? Bridget paused, unsure of how to respond. “Occasionally,” she decided was something of the right answer. “I’ll have to ask her more about work.” She smiled weakly, their conversation ending shortly there after.  
  
\- - -  
  
Even though Mark was home again this evening, she was grateful to have some semblance of quietude. Usually, she’d have stayed as late as possible at the office but, Jim McCraig had spotted her at exactly 7:22 PM. The one time she had left the solitude of her corner office to make copies, the interim director of public prosecutions insisted that no case, even this one, was important enough for her to be at work this late when tomorrow was a public holiday.  
  
“Go home,” he had said, shooing her away once the copies were done. He’d went so far as to wait for her to pack up for the evening. “If you have to insist on working, at least don’t do it here. I’ll definitely be getting as far away from this dungeon as I can.”  
  
So she sprawled out a makeshift work environment in her living room (not expecting Mark to come home at all – though, to be fair, he probably wasn’t expecting her either); Dr. Westfall’s psychiatric evaluations on Joan Ferguson piled to one side and the appeal that had allowed Ferguson to be released into gen-pop on the other. It was an incongruent mess. Both the case and the space surrounding her. The little hope she had yesterday after speaking with Dr. Westfall was starting to shrivel up.  
  
Theresa and Jim thought a meeting with Ferguson was an excellent idea, with few reservations. In fact, Theresa was surprised that _she herself_ hadn’t suggested it before. Unfortunately, the messages left for Governor Bennett by both Erica and Theresa had yet to be returned, much to the prosecution’s frustration. As if the State _really_ needed permission to go to one of its own prisons and interview a prisoner. They all knew it was a somewhat ironic complaint.  
  
Maybe it was the upcoming holiday.  
  
“Why don’t you give it a rest?” Mark asked. He was settled comfortably into an easy chair, watching footie highlights on his iPad. “A night off wouldn’t hurt.”  
  
Erica looked over to him, biting her lip. “No one else seems to have any ideas how someone clearly dangerous, and a former staff member on top of it, was sent into general population.” She alt-tabbed to another screen on her laptop. “Do you?” Her eyes flashed with annoyance.  
  
“No,” he frowned in reply. “But, maybe taking a night off will help clear your head.” He sat up a bit straighter. “Give you a new perspective...”  
  
Erica sighed. She didn’t like that he was right but, she also didn’t like taking time off to begin with. “Even the staff psychiatrist agreed that she shouldn’t have been released. I just want to know the big picture.”  
  
“Well, I’m sure you’re not the only one.” Mark shrugged. He crooked his neck upward upon hearing a phone ring. “Is that you? Forever popular.”  
  
Erica looked down to find her phone. It was hidden beneath one of the file-folders she’d taken from the OPP. “It’s work,” she half-smiled. “Maybe they know something I don’t.”  
  
Mark lit up. “Good, then you can take a break. It’s been awhile since we’ve both been around on a weeknight...”  
  
_I think we both share the blame on that._ She exhaled a stifled laugh as she got up, excusing herself to their shared study to answer the phone.   
  
  
  
“Are you still at the office?”  
  
Erica shook her head. “I was kicked out a couple of hours ago. Why?”  
  
“I was about to stop by, I forgot something. But, I’ve been thinking...”  
  
“Don’t bother. No one will be around to let you in.” Hopefully whatever it was could wait. “I thought you weren’t going to think so hard?” she continued with a small smile.  
  
“Nah,” a smile in return. “That’s all on you.”  
  
There was a pleasant lull between the two of them. After a moment: “Franky, are you still there?”   
  
“Yeah, sorry.” Franky paused, holding her phone close. “I’ve been thinking about the other night. Can we talk? Hadn’t had the time to catch up with you the past few days.”  
  
Erica’s eyes darted to the door of the study. She had left it ajar, as there hadn’t been a reason to close it. She stayed stubbornly seated in the office chair. “As I said, nothing has changed. I don’t think any different or worse of you. There’s nothing to talk about.”  
  
“How do you think of me then?” asked Franky. When there was no response, she laughed bitterly. “And please, how long have you been saying that we have nothing to talk about? Years, Erica. Years.”  
  
_Too long._ She sighed, “Franky, what happened in the car, I shouldn’t have...” She didn’t want to talk about this. She was still trying to mull over “why” it had happened to begin with.  
  
“But you did.”  
  
Erica tried to remain steely, but she found herself distracted by the open door. She got up to close it, leaning back against it once shut. “I recognize that it wasn’t--”  
  
“Miss Davidson, I think you’re thinking too hard.”  
  
“We need to be thinking about the case,” Erica insisted, exasperated.  
  
“Is that why you pile yourself in work all the time?” Franky jeered, lowering her voice. Erica’s constant deflection was somewhere between a game and a challenge. She just wanted to hear Erica say what she was really thinking. This, the constant back and forth, would _almost_ be frustrating, if taunting Erica wasn’t so much fun. “If it wasn’t Ferguson, it would be something else, wouldn’t it?”   
  
Erica remained silent. Franky always seemed to return to mocking her. She could imagine the smug expression already. She should hang up – that would show her.  
  
“Don’t even think of hanging up.”  
  
_God damn it._ Then she had an idea, though it was admittedly quite a bit of a risk. But, the door was closed and Mark was distracted. There would be no questions later – at least from him.  


“What would you want me to be thinking about?” Erica asked, her tone down to a breathy sotto voce. If Franky was going to keep trying to get her off of her toes, then she had every intention of beating her at her own game. “You? The two of us? Maybe instead of sifting through files and discussing legal strategy, we’re fucking on top of my desk?”  
  
Franky gave a startled laugh.   
  
“No response? That’s disappointing. I thought you’d have all manner of ideas. Maybe you’d like us on the floor instead?” Erica murmured. “See, you’re not the only one who gets to ask questions.” _  
  
_ Was Erica really giving as good as she got or was this a different conversation all together? Franky shook her head, she never would have expected Erica to relax enough around her to turn on her (or rather, _turn her on_ ). “And if I say yes?”  
  
“First, I’d ask what you’re going to do about it, and then say you’ve asked too many questions.” Erica smirked. “Have a good night, Franky – enjoy the day off.” And with that, her inflection was back to conversational and she rung off.   
  
Franky chuckled again with disbelief, not even minding that the call had ended. She chose to let the senior solicitor believe that she had finally won a round. For now. There was no way that that conversation was entirely part of the game.

  
  
* * *

  
  
“So,” Bridget began, eyeing Franky from her spot against the kitchen island. Franky’s back was towards her, as she tossed the chopped root vegetables into the boiling pot.  
  
“So what?” Franky grinned, turning her head slightly away from the task at hand.  
  
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Bridget asked. “At work.” She prodded, “With Erica?”  
  
Franky frowned, though keeping humor in her voice. “Guess the best way to ask me is when I’m distracted? Couldn’t you have picked during dinner, instead of while I’m making it?”  
  
“Well, I figured, this wouldn’t really be dinner talk. And certainly, after dinner would be less than an ideal time...” chuckled Bridget. Maybe this didn’t have to be a serious conversation. Maybe they could just laugh their way through it. Hopefully, yes, yes they could.  
  
“Let’s call this after dinner then, yeah?” Franky raised her eyebrows suggestively, looking at Bridget from the corner of her eye. “But I wouldn’t expect too much, I might be tired.” She laughed, mocking a yawn.   
  
“You’re deflecting.” Bridget had to smile.  
  
“You started it,” she faked a pout. Still with a hint of a grin.  
  
“So. Same question.”  
  
Franky covered the large pot and turned around to face Bridget. She leaned against the counter beside the stove, careful to mind the cutting board behind her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I really don’t know what’s going on. I know you’re not asking about working with her on the Ferguson trial.”  
  
“I might be,” shrugged Bridget. “If it matters. She’d said you’d been a very helpful asset. That it was nice to have you around again.”  
  
“You talked about me?” Her voice was wary.  
  
“No, actually,” Bridget said with a small laugh. “She’s quickly shut down any conversation about you. She’s a lot like you, in some ways. Perceptive.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Franky finally laughed, though her gaze went down to her feet. “I’d told her about what happened during the riot...back then. She didn’t walk away, she wasn’t--she just said that ‘it didn’t change anything’. I haven’t seen her alone since.”  
  
That was a surprise; she hadn’t expected Franky to be willing to share that information again. Certainly not with Erica Davidson. They must have been closer than she thought. They must _be_ closer now.  
  
Bridget remained silent for a moment, trying to consider her next words. “Have you told her about us?” She knew the answer, but wanted to hear Franky say it. Erica Davidson had no idea that she, Dr. Bridget Westfall, was anything to Franky, but perhaps an occasional therapist.  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’d ask you ‘why not’, but I think we both know the answer,” Bridget said seriously, she sounded disappointed. “...You know she’s engaged.”  
  
Franky rolled her eyes. “She’s been engaged for almost as long as I’ve known her. She doesn’t even wear her ring at work.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter.” _I guess we won’t be laughing our way through this.  
  
_ “What _do_ you want me to tell her?”  Franky snapped. “ ‘Uh, hey Erica. Yeah, you know Dr. Westfall? Yeah, we’re a thing. Just so you know’,” she mocked a dopey sounding version of herself. “Isn’t our situation already a little fucked without telling a lawyer about it?”  
  
Bridget cringed. She had recognized the ethical pitfalls of their relationship early-on. It was why she had originally resigned from her position. But somehow, Franky also being aware of this, made her feel guilty. Uneasy. She deeply cared about the woman in front of her, but perhaps the current iteration of their relationship wasn’t...no, she didn’t want to go down that path.  
  
“Hey, Gidge, no, not like that.” Franky rushed quickly over to the kitchen island to comfort Bridget. Any hint of annoyance in her voice was gone. She hadn’t intended to get riled up. This “thing” between her and Erica, whatever it was, wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. _Right?_ “Look, I’m not going anywhere. You even said it, Erica’s still trying to play happy families with her...fiance.” Incidentally, much like Erica, she also forced the word out. _Fiance_. That still bothered her; certainly a thought worth examining later.  
  
She tilted Bridget’s face up towards hers. “I’m here. Erica and I – we’re colleagues, and at most, friends.” _I think._ “I’ll figure out a way to tell her about us. Maybe we can together. I’ll bet she and the senior crowns will want to get us all in the same room at some point.” The thought filled her with dread, but now wasn’t the time.  
  
Bridget gave a halfhearted smile, but before she could bring the conversation to an end, the stove did for her. “Shit, Franky!,” her eyes darted over to the now over-boiling pot.  
  
“Fuck!” __  
  
  
  
* * *  


  
Joan Ferguson sat in her cell, looking straight ahead through the bullet proof glass barrier that separated her from the outside. Or at least as close to the outside as she could get in isolation.  
  
So when Governor Vera Bennett approached her, the shadow that she cast in the dimly lit space was more of a surprise than her appearance. She had been bound to show up eventually. Of course.  
  
“I’m only telling you this as a legal courtesy.” Vera stated. Two larger COs stood a few paces behind her. Armed. This was new.  
  
“Of course you are,” Ferguson smirked, looking not at Vera but at the guards. She didn’t recognize them.  
  
“The state called about having an interview with you. I have every intention of letting them see you, and no, I will not be alerting your attorney. You’ve already waived your right to have them present.”  
  
“Isn’t that illegal, Vera? The incarcerated have rights too,” Ferguson sharply turned her attention to the governor, giving a slimy smile. “You’ve learned well.”  
  
Vera Bennett crossed her arms, turning around on her heel. “That will be all.” The sound of footsteps loudly echoed as the governor and her ensemble left Ferguson and the isolation chamber.  



	13. Chapter 13

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and Franky Doyle was starting to wonder how far into hell she had gone already. She had every intention of waking up early to beat Erica to the office, having come to realize that the only way to have an open and honest conversation with the senior solicitor was to catch her completely off her guard. She owed it to the both of them (and Bridget) to get some _things_ straight. What better way to do that than to show up first thing in the morning? No excuses.  
  
Unfortunately, Erica was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. She tended to show up anywhere between 7:15 and 7:45, depending on the day. Any time later would be highly unusual, and even 7:45 AM was considered late by her own standards. She liked to have at least a full thirty minutes before the rest of the staff started to mill in. More time would be even better.  
  
And so when Franky rolled over to find the bed empty and the bed-side clock flashing 8:07, she already knew the morning was not off to a good start.  
  
“Gidge, why didn’t you wake me?” she grumbled her way into the kitchen, looking to Bridget with accusatory eyes.  
  
Bridget was in the middle of a bite of toast and tried to swallow quickly. “You usually wake me,” she shrugged. “I figured I’d let you sleep in for a change. You could probably use it.”  
  
Franky gave an audible groan as she dragged herself to the bathroom. Bridget shrugged again. What was the big deal? It’s not like Franky had anywhere to be before noon on Mondays anyway. “I can give you a ride if you can get it together in the next ten minutes,” she called, receiving yet another groan in response.  
  
  
By the time Franky had even made it to the Office of Public Prosecutions, it was already past 9. Technically, she had made pretty good time, considering that she had missed a ride from Bridget, and the first train...and the right stop.  
  
But maybe luck was in her favor. As she exited the elevator to the seventh floor, she saw Erica standing at her office door with a set of keys. She rushed down the hallway, nearly tripping over herself. Erica must have been late too. Hopefully she could catch her before the day got started.  
  
“I was actually just about to leave,” Erica said, giving an apologetic frown. Of course she wasn’t late. “What are you doing here?” Her face suddenly paled. “Oh god. Look if this is about what I said on the phone...”  
  
“Well sort of,” Franky had to laugh. This day couldn’t get any worse. She leaned in close to whisper: “For the record, I was thinking the Director’s desk. Go big or go home, right?”  
  
Erica turned bright red, dropping her keys. She quickly bent over to pick them up. It was way too early for Franky to be doing this.  
  
“I’m kidding,” chuckled Franky, and Erica relaxed, just a little. She picked up the set of keys and handed them back to their still rather flustered owner. “A root on the floor of your office is far better, you’re right.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Erica ran her hand through her hair, her complexion still flushed. She couldn’t even look at Franky. “Look, whatever you’re doing, I can’t right now, okay? Theresa and I are about to head over to Wentworth.”  
  
“What?” The grin was completely wiped from Franky’s face. “Wait, why?”  
  
Erica gave a proud smile, her posture straightening. “Vera finally approved our meeting with Ferguson. We’re going to have an interview with her.”  
  
Before Franky could say anything, Theresa approached. She always seemed to be mid-conversation any time Franky, or anyone really, saw her. “Erica, sorry I’m ready. I found those damn files, they’d gotten mixed in—oh, Miss Doyle.” She gave a polite nod. “You’re not usually around on Mondays. Did Erica find a way to pay you extra to be here?” It was meant to be humorous, but the joke definitely didn’t land on the now stiff looking pair.  
  
“I was just telling Franky that we’re about to head out to meet Ferguson,” Erica said, completely ignoring Theresa’s comment. “We should be back later this afternoon if you still need to talk.” She eyed Franky carefully. Her favorite (and only) intern, while full of surprises, generally didn’t appear at her office completely unannounced.  
  
“Hopefully if this goes well, we won’t need you around at all!” Theresa’s excitement was again lost on Franky and Erica. “I mean for the trial, your internship is safe. Christ, you both have no sense of humor. This could be a great day for us. Let’s go Erica, they’re waiting downstairs.” She started down the hallway, already assuming Erica to be following close behind.  
  
“Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know how it goes.” Erica placed a reassuring hand on Franky’s shoulder. “If I see Boomer or your other girls, I’ll send your regards.” She rushed to catch up with Theresa, but not before turning back. “We can talk later, I promise.”  
  
Franky was left standing by herself in front of the corner office as Theresa and Erica disappeared into the elevator. This was bad. Why didn’t Erica tell her that the prosecution had been planning this?  
  
  
  
“Did you finally make it out of the house?” Bridget smiled.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me Erica and the prosecution were coming to meet Ferguson?” Franky snapped into her phone. “Jesus Christ, Gidge.” She had bolted out of the Office of Public Prosecutions, certainly not without attracting notice, and down the street to the nearest metro station.  
  
Bridget rolled her eyes and sighed. “Franky, one, I’m sure I’m not at liberty to discuss the prosecution’s plans. Two, this literally just happened. Vera told me when I got in. I’m sure Erica would have given you a heads up if she had known sooner.”  
  
Franky groaned for what seemed like the fiftieth time that morning. “She said that their meeting was ‘finally’ approved, that means it’s been in the works for at least a little while.”  
  
“Wait,” Bridget shook her head, confused. “When did you have time to talk to Erica?”  
  
“I was just at the OPP. I was trying to catch her before her morning got started,” Franky watched as a mess of people tried to push their way both on and off the train. She thought about joining them (though, hadn’t she already?). Perhaps she could still beat Theresa and Erica to Wentworth, though knowing full well it wouldn’t do any good. If anything, it was best to stay as far off of Joan Ferguson’s radar as possible. Especially today.  
  
Bridget clenched her jaw. Is that why Franky had been irritable about sleeping in this morning, just so she could see Erica Davidson?  
  
“I wanted to talk to her about,” Franky paused. _Us._ _Me and_ _Gidge_ _?_ _That wasn’t_ _really it._ She touched her lips, remembering that evening in the car. “...about our conversation the other night.”  
  
Bridget relaxed with an audible exhale. She swore that her jaw could be heard setting back into place. “I’m glad.” She assumed that Franky was referring to _their_ conversation from over the weekend. “But maybe first thing in the morning isn’t good for anyone.”  
  
“Maybe.” Franky sounded distracted, the train humming as it waited to depart. “Can you do me a favor, and keep me updated on this Freak stuff, yeah?”  
  
“Of course,” replied Bridget. “As much as I’m able.”  
  
  
  
“You know what’s funny?” Theresa DeKoenig asked. She didn’t turn her head, her eyes focused on the road before them. She and Erica were able to take a government car and drive themselves out to Wentworth. It was slightly cheaper than having a driver and escort – the State was all about saving money, after all.  
  
Erica looked over to Theresa. She had been gazing out the window watching the other cars pass them by. Going back to Wentworth had made her feel more uneasy than she had anticipated. But, to be fair, she really hadn't any time to process it.  
  
“Charlie and I used to be really into watching those cooking shows,” she continued with a small smile, apparently referring to her spouse at home. “I knew I remembered Doyle’s face from somewhere. I have to tell you, that host was a real prick, we were totally cheering for her when she decked him.”  
  
“I never saw it,” Erica admitted. She remembered Franky’s surprise years ago when she said as much.  
  
  
  
_“I’m surprised you’re not taking to chemistry,” Erica frowned. She took a seat next to Franky at the small table in the library. “I thought you liked to cook.”_  
  
_Franky looked at the prisoner advocate in disbelief. “Have you ever cooked in your life? Fuck, Erica--”_  
  
_“Miss Davidson,” Erica corrected with a smile._  
  
_Franky rolled her eyes. “Whatever, no one’s here. But seriously, cooking is nothing like chemistry. Next time you have to balance equations to crack an egg, let me know.” She stretched her arms out above her head, eliciting a yawn._  
  
_“Well, there are still proportions and things you have to follow, I imagine.” Erica looked over to the closed textbook. Franky’s homework stuck out, neatly marking where they had last left off. At least there were still a few months left before the HSC._  
  
_“You’ve never cooked,” Franky mouth spread into wide grin. “Well, you do seem pretty posh. You probably have a cleaning lady or some shit doing that for you.”_  
  
No, I have a Mark. _Erica thought, her brow_ _knitting_ _. “I know how to cook, I just don’t usually.”_  
  
_“Yeah, okay.” Franky rolled her eyes with a laugh._  
  
_“Really.” Erica insisted, though she wasn’t sure why she felt that she needed to convince her ward that she wasn’t completely inept in the kitchen. “I’ve even watched a few shows.” She hoped that occasionally catching Julia Child reruns twenty-odd years ago counted._  
  
_“Did you ever see the one I was on?” Franky asked seriously. She watched Erica carefully, her eyes appraising for an answer._  
  
_Erica hated when Franky looked at her like that. It felt like she could see through every thing Erica had ever said or done. Though, she had to admit, it was invigorating in a way. No one else ever managed to do that. “I didn’t even know you were on a show until I saw your file.” It was the truth. “Even so, it has no bearing on your studies.”_  
  
_Franky gave a faint smile. She looked surprised, and perhaps a bit relieved. The look didn't last, and she just as swiftly got back into “character”. “Well then you’ve clearly never watched a cooking show. That one was top rated. Remind me to cook for you some day. I’ll even give you a lesson.”_  
  
_Erica smiled back, promptly averting her eyes and opening the textbook. “Let’s get back to chemistry.”_

 

  
“If I had been her lawyer at the time, who knows where she’d be now.” Theresa’s voice shook Erica from the memory. “You must have really made an impression on her. Good on you, maybe not all business after all.” One could never tell if the senior crown prosecutor was giving a compliment or an insult.  
  
“I think we made an impression on each other, honestly,” Erica said absentmindedly. Her eyes glazed over with the sight of the barbed-wire fences she had left nearly three years ago.  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
"I'm just here to remind you that the prosecution is coming in at some point today," Vera Bennet said. She had come again to Joan Ferguson's cell with her entourage of armed guards.  
  
Ferguson looked completely disinterested. "Did you really think that trying to surprise me would work? And here I thought you had learned a thing or two." She mocked an exaggerated frown. "Shame."  
  
Vera sighed, she was trying to be as fair as possible, but in truth she was tired of giving Joan Ferguson any sense common courtesy. "You will cooperate with them."  
  
"I wouldn't do anything different," Ferguson gave that slimy grin. Vera stiffly shook her head. She prayed that forging the documents to allow the prosecution to visit unaccompanied was the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But, the next chapter is already halfway written, so maybe there will be two this month.


	14. Chapter 14

She was surprised at how little the prison complex seemed to have changed in the years since her absence. The same barbed-wire fences surrounding the perimeter, the same faceless grey walls. Even the fluorescent lighting had its same odd color temperature. Many of the same women - still incarcerated. But what was she expecting really?  
  
Theresa had asked if she was ready to enter the facility as they stepped out of the governmental car. She didn’t think she had shown any reluctance or hesitation, though perhaps being at Wentworth had a strange way of getting inside you. Staying inside you.  
  
Erica could see that some of the women were already in the yard, watching them cross the car park through the fence. She wondered how many of them remembered her, if they recognized her at all.  
  
“I’m sure you were hard to forget,” Theresa laughed softly, as if reading her mind. Erica gave an uncomfortable shrug as she glanced back towards the yard before they entered the building.  
  
They were met by a metal detector and a guard who still needed to check their bags. Erica sighed, recalling the years that she had owned a transparent bag solely to skip this step.  
  
Will Jackson, apparently now the lieutenant governor, would greet them by the front desk. He offered Erica a warm smile, followed by a “long time, no see”.  
  
“I don’t think anyone could have predicted what happened after you left,” he said. Their three sets of feet echoed down the corridors. “You’re probably still the best governor we’ve had in years.” It was a grave chuckle, but even Erica finally smiled.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
As much as she wanted to look at her feet and avoid gazing around, she couldn’t help herself. It was too familiar. Every so often a prisoner would pass them by, or they would pass by a group. She must have recognized some of them. _McConnell...or was it McConnor?_ _Is that Sue?_ No doubt the confused stares and occasional glares she (and Theresa) received confirmed her earlier wonders.  
  
*  
  
“I apologize for the short notice, but I thought that this was the only way this could possibly work out,” Vera said. They were seated – Dr. Westfall having arrived shortly after their entrance – in the governor’s office. This had changed, Erica mused. The walls were now painted grey, not the deep red she had left them. Will stood with his arms crossed by the door, his brow furrowed in thought.  
  
“Is there anything we should know before meeting her?” Theresa asked. “Rather, anything we don’t know already.”  
  
Vera frowned. She turned in her chair towards Bridget.  
  
“She might say things that are _true_. But they are not _the truth_ ,” Bridget said carefully. Her expression was similar to Will’s. Concerned. “You can’t take anything she says at face value.” She looked over at Erica, their gaze meeting.  
  
*  
  
“My predecessor and my prosecutor, what a pleasant surprise.” Joan Ferguson looked across to the two women sitting before her, her face suggesting something between contempt and polite indifference. “Though, I suppose, Miss Davidson, you have the unique position of both, don’t you?” There it was, that crooked smile. Already calculating.  
  
Erica could feel Ferguson’s dark eyes zero in on her. She had never met her successor, nor did she have the opportunity to pick who it would be. She couldn’t help but wonder if Channing and the board purposely chose someone so opposite of her in both affect and appearance. Ferguson was a tall, imposing, and one might even say masculine-looking, woman. Erica, while certainly not short, felt quite small compared to the giantess seated across from her. While she was aware that her own appearance - that is, conventionally attractive, slight, and blonde – had been to her advantage over the years, this was one of the times that, perhaps, a pencil skirt and Calvin Klein pumps only served to make her seem the more vulnerable party. Especially to the shrewd and particular Joan Ferguson.  
  
She swallowed and removed the portable audio-recorder from her briefcase. She checked its small screen to make sure that the SD card had ample time left to record. Theresa had already taken the opportunity to place the additional files and a notebook onto their small work space.  
  
“Why don’t we get started?” Theresa nodded in Erica’s direction, indicating that she should press record. Before they entered the secured visiting room, she reminded Erica to make sure her phone was also recording their conversation. There was no telling what Ferguson would, or wouldn’t say, before and after the interview “officially” started.  
  
“But we have so much to catch up on,” Ferguson said blandly.  
  
“I think we can skip the small talk,” Theresa offered a small smile. “You do know why we’re here, after all.”  
  
“Honestly, I don’t.” Ferguson gazed up to the security camera in the corner. She knew Vera and Bridget were sure to be watching from outside.  
  
“Well, we’re grateful that you waived your attorney for today,” Erica said. Theresa nodded in agreement.  
  
Ferguson’s stare remained fixed at the corner camera. “Did I? I was not aware. Do you have the proof with you?”  
  
Erica made a small frown. What was Ferguson getting at? She wasn’t certain that they had brought a physical copy of the waiver with them, and if not, there was bound to be one in the governor’s office. She opened her laptop and began to search for an archived copy.  
  
Theresa spoke carefully. “Are you suggesting that neither you nor your lawyer consent for us to be here?” If that was true, and it was recorded, they were well out of bounds for being at Wentworth today. Any information they might have collected would be inadmissible.  
  
Ferguson finally turned her attention away from the camera. “You may want to ask Vera.” Her smile was self-satisfied.  
  
“I found it,” Erica said, sounding almost too relieved. She turned her laptop around so Ferguson could observe the digitized version. “This is your signature, and your lawyer’s, is it not?”  
  
Ferguson peered down to look at the screen, her frown visible. “So it is.” Her eyes flitted up to the security camera and back to Erica. “I would venture that you did a bit of rule bending while you were here too.”  
  
Erica hesitated, turning to Theresa. She gave her silent encouragement, meaning that the senior solicitor should engage Ferguson. If playing into these games lead to the eventual retrieval of more information, so be it. They had all day. Theresa and Erica were both clever women in the top of their profession, they should be able handle Joan Ferguson.  
  
Right?  
  
\- - -  
  
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Vera asked, scrutinizing the CCTV monitor in front of them. She did not like that Joan Ferguson seemed to be addressing her in particular.  
  
Bridget shook her head, her arms tightly folded in front of her chest. “Not really. But, they’re recording the conversation.” She turned to the governor. “Forgive me for asking, but how did you get her and her lawyer to agree to this?” When Bridget had initially asked on the prosecution’s behalf, she didn’t expect to get very far. But, here they were, indeed watching the prosecution speak with Joan Ferguson without one of her lawyers present.  
  
“I’ve learned a few things,” Vera said vaguely. She watched the figures in the monitor, hoping none of those women knew the complete truth. That could make things _difficult._  
  
\- - -  
  
“I wouldn’t have called it rule bending, necessarily,” Erica said, pulling her laptop back in front of her. She folded the screen down, its click into place seeming louder than usual.  
  
“Oh?” Ferguson asked nonchalantly, folding her manacled hands on the table. “What would you call your relationship with Franky Doyle then?”  
  
Erica’s could almost feel her pupils constricting. Ferguson knew she had hit a nerve and smirked accordingly. Even Theresa perked up a bit in surprise.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I still never quite figured out where she got your address, but I suppose you never got those letters did you?” Ferguson’s tone was at odds with the smug expression plastered across her face. “Well, they suggested a certainly _intimate_ relationship. I can’t imagine you two haven’t been reunited to some degree, now that she’s out of here.” She paused, licking her bottom lip. “Or maybe you went looking for her.”  
  
Erica’s throat was dry, her hands clenched under the table into her lap. She didn’t know what to say; her brain couldn’t process the information fast enough. _Letters?_ _From Franky?_ _What did they say – what were they about?_ _Read by Ferguson_ _._ _Who else?_  
  
“But, it’s possible she’s forgotten all about you and that tongue of yours. I’m sure Dr. Westfall could fill you in.” She directed her attentions back to the flashing red light of the security camera. Bridget felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “You both seem to share a similar weakness, after all.”  
  
Theresa cleared her throat and began to speak, much to Erica’s relief. “Okay, I think that’s enough catching up. Whatever Erica’s relationship to Doyle,” she glanced at Erica from the corner of her eye, though there was no hesitation in her direct manner of speech. “I know for a fact that it was not why she was let go and certainly has nothing to do with why we’re here today. It _especially_ has nothing to do with _your_ attacks on Bea Smith and Allie Novak. Not to mention your previous arson of this facility.” She casually opened up the folder containing a list of everything the State wished to charge Joan Ferguson for. “Need I continue?”  
  
Ferguson grimaced, her cuts at Erica Davidson would have to wait for now.  
  
“That’s what I thought. So why don’t you tell us why we shouldn’t trust the CCTV footage that clearly shows you stabbing Smith no less than twenty times. Because ‘self-defense’ isn’t looking like it’s going to cut it”. Theresa’s light eyes flashed with intensity.  
  
“And here I thought you were going to save this for the court room,” Ferguson said, having regained her composure. She flicked an invisible speck of dust from the table. “You speak well, but you’re quite unlikable. If I remember correctly, that has proven to be your downfall in the past.”  
  
Theresa rolled her eyes, essentially dismissing the statement. “Right, okay. I’m sure no matter how much the jury dislikes me, in this case, they will pick me and all of the people you’ve hurt over you.”  
  
“There was that case, what was it, ten or fifteen years ago...” Ferguson sounded wistful, ignoring Theresa’s rebuttal. “I’m sure Erica would remember it from her time at law school.” Erica’s eyes narrowed in response, not for a moment appreciating being a part of the narrative. “That boy, what was his name? You just couldn’t convince the jury that he killed his brother, could you?”  
  
The Samuel K. Douglas trial was unique. The State had to prove that a ten year-old boy had willingly and knowingly killed his younger brother. At the time, even his parents had been hesitant to join the prosecution but, his mother later came to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do (she later caved on the stand and was all but completely unreliable). Naturally, the jury found it hard to convict this small boy of the murder – later deemed an unfortunate accident. Fast forward five years after the verdict, and little Sammy Douglas, now fifteen and not-so little, had killed his father and left his sister all but handicapped. His mother? She just so happened to be “out of town” and couldn’t imagine that it was her boy who had done this.  
  
It was the one case in Theresa DeKoenig’s portfolio that she had a hard time prosecuting and one of her very few losses. She blamed herself directly for the loss when the Douglas family reappeared in her life five years after the initial verdict, thinking that she had subconsciously not done the right work for the State. After all, what is more difficult than prosecuting a seemingly innocent child for murder and thus breaking apart a family? She swore she could have proved him guilty at the time and prevented even worse damage, but somehow didn’t. How? There must have been something but, it didn’t matter anymore, and she had refused to be the crown prosecutor for the second iteration of the Samuel Douglas trial. She didn’t trust herself to be able to deliver the correct results, knowing full well that she hadn’t been able to the first time through.  
  
Both trials were highly publicized, so it was no wonder that Joan Ferguson knew of them. How long she had been planning the opportunity to remind Theresa of her failures, however, remained to be seen.

\- - -  
  
Franky drummed her fingers restlessly on her desk. She couldn’t stay focused. What did a lecture on legal positivism matter when Erica and Bridget weren’t responding to her texts. They had no excuse, as far as she was concerned, and should be providing a play-by-play. A live stream would be better yet.  
  
But fine, _maybe_ not hearing from Erica was okay, as she was likely sitting with Ferguson right this second. That is, if Boomer’s call from earlier was anything to go by.  
  
  
_“_ _Restricted?” Franky looked at her phone, promptly ignoring the call. When the same restricted number called back another two times in less than five minutes, she figured maybe it was_ _n’t actually a telemarketer._ _Or at least a very persistent one._ _  
  
She snorted a laugh at the pre-recorded message, announcing that the caller was an inmate at Wentworth. She should have known.  
  
“Franks!” Boomer huffed into the phone. Franky could hear the excitement in her voice. “I didn’t think you were gonna pick up. Then I dunno what I’d have done.”  
  
“Calm down, Booms. I can’t talk long, I have class like...” she gazed down at her watch. _ Shit. _“About now, actually.”  
  
“You’ll never guess who I just saw being escorted by Mr. Jackson!” Boomer didn’t wait a beat. “Miss Davidson! You reckon she’s finally come back for ya? Maybe she doesn’t know you’re out. I could tell her or give her a good punch for you.”  
  
Franky chuckled lightly at Boomer’s reaction. “She knows.”  
  
“She’s with some other scary looking lady. They were headin’ to Vinegar-Tits’s office.” She __apparently_ _ignored Franky’s response, already preoccupied with the thought of finding away for beat up the former governor on_ _her friend’s_ _behalf.  
  
“_ _She’s there_ _to interview the Freak,” Franky said. “If you hear anything about it, call me back, yeah?” She stood outside the door to the_ _lecture hall_ _, tapping her foot_ _impatiently._  
  
_Boomer didn’t ask how Franky knew this information already. “Sure, but do_ _n’t_ _you want me to smash her up too?”_  
  
  
She watched the digital clock in the front of the hall, waiting for the minute that class was over. She would call Bridget, and _demand_ to know what was going on.  
  
\- - -  
  
Erica glanced at her phone. It was still recording, though she was sure it hadn’t heard anything that the other recorder hadn’t already. She saw several unread text messages from Franky – one from Mark; she couldn’t deal with that right now. She glanced up to see Theresa, uncharacteristically silent, and decided that perhaps this would be the best time to take a break.  
  
“How about we take ten?” Theresa had stepped in when Ferguson had been attacking her, she figured she might as well return the favor. “You clearly need a few minutes to remind yourself that this meeting isn’t about us.” Where this surge of confidence had come from, she didn’t know, but hoped it didn’t go away.  
  
Theresa nodded, standing up quickly. She pressed the pause button on the small recorder and alerted the armed guard standing outside. It was hard to ignore the audacious look on Ferguson’s face as she was escorted from the room.  
  
She gave Erica an unreadable expression and exited the room shortly thereafter. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go.  
  
Erica sighed and drew her hands over her face. She needed to get out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awhile back I said this wouldn't be a Crownies crossover, but I may have borrowed an idea or two. See if you can find it.
> 
> I know that season 5 just started up, so I don't know if Erica is still on the radar for anyone. All the same, enjoy reading! I always appreciate comments and thoughts.


End file.
